A Lot Can Change In Ten Days
by 0nce Upon My Story
Summary: Sworn rivals Black Widow and Hawkeye are given the same mission, pushed into a reluctant cooperation when things get tricky. Then both agents' covers are blown. They are imprisoned together, forced to undergo a series of exhausting trials as a team. Exactly how much can change in ten days?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: this story is set in alternate universe, where SHIELD's Hawkeye, agent Clint Barton, is the sworn rival of Soviet spy Black Widow. Barton was never sent to kill Black Widow, so she was never recruited for SHIELD. Also, Barton has no family. **

**I'd like to get it out there that this fic _will _be shipping Clintasha (or Blackhawk or Widowhawk or whatever you want to call it). If that's not your thing, then now's your chance to leave.**

**Reviews are amazing and very much appreciated. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but please don't flame. It's upsetting for everybody who reads the reviews.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters connected in any way to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I am merely using them as my muses. I make no money out of this fic – I do it purely because I want to. **

**Okay, then, that's all. To the story!**

* * *

Natalia Romanova, better known as the notorious Black Widow, had just been given a particularly challenging assignment. She was less confident than she would have liked, but she hid it well. One did not become the USSR's top spy by showing fear or apprehension.

She wasn't worried about getting the information her government wanted. That would be the easy part. What made this mission so difficult was that she was not the only one after said information.

Natalia's briefing had let her know in no uncertain terms the delicacy of the mission. She had to get the information first, then kill the target to prevent any other agents from retrieving it as well. She also had to identify said other agents, a task made far more difficult than it needed to be by the setting of the whole affair. Her target, a wealthy Austrian doctor and weapons manufacturer, was holding a huge ball to celebrate his new invention.

What exactly this invention was, Natalia did not know. Her files only said that it was a weapon that would revolutionise the weapons world. Of course, any government possessing this weapon would have a massive advantage over all the other governments.

So, naturally, the USSR wanted the blueprints. Natalia's instructions were to steal the prints themselves, then destroy any virtual backups. She had received a flash drive holding a specially designed virus for just this purpose.

It was a complex bit of equipment masterfully disguised as a rather ostentatious ruby necklace. All she had to do was plug the drive into Dr. Gehlhausen's main computer.

Not that hard, then. The hard part would be identifying the other agents she was assured would be there, and subtly halting their progress. It would not do for another government to get their hands on Gehlhausen's blueprints.

In the unlikely event that another agent got to the prints before she did, her instructions were to destroy it. All or nothing, her government reasoned.

But she was the Black Widow. She would succeed.

* * *

Natalia surveyed her reflection in her suite's large mirror. She smiled. Her disguise was perfect.

She would be playing the part of Tatiana Solokova, a wealthy Russian countess. She was dressed for the occasion in a long, flowing black ball gown cinched with a bejewelled belt. Her hair was twirled into a stylish, balletic updo, and her naturally beautiful features were accented with smoky makeup and cherry-red lipstick.

Looking deeper, her outfit disguised a deadly assemblage of the USSR's best weapons and tech. Strapped to her waist under the loose gown were two pistols, and spare magazines were tucked into her shoes. Her ruby earrings were in fact comm buds in disguise, and her necklace hid the virus drive. Her hair-pins, too, were weapons – laced with potent sedatives and sharpened to needle points. Her black clutch handbag hid a wide range of weaponry, from smoke bombs to her infamous set of Widow's Bites.

But Dr. Gehlhausen's guards saw none of that. They were far too busy appreciating the low neckline of her ball gown. She doubted they even looked twice at her invitation (a masterful fake). They were far too busy gawping at her attractive black-clad form.

Natalia let them, smiling with just the right amount of superiority as she strolled into Gehlhausen's mansion. She had purposefully arrived late to make an entrance – not normal for an agent, but she hoped it would cement her cover.

She was immediately accosted by several hopeful-looking gentlemen, all of whom she haughtily dismissed. She walked alone down the long staircase to the ballroom, revelling in the many admiring glances she got on the way.

Dr. Gehlhausen himself came up to her to be introduced. He was a grey-haired man in his early fifties, looking for all the world like a benign grandfather. His dark eyes, however, were crafty and intelligent, flicking from side to side with an almost fox-like gleam.

Natalia was at her most charming as she shook hands with him. "It is such a pleasure to be here," she said warmly, allowing her native Russian accent to slip through.

"The pleasure is all mine," Gehlhausen replied with a gentlemanly kiss to her right hand. "Perhaps you would delight me with a dance later on this evening?"

Promising she would, Natalia moved on. Her eyes had been subtly scanning the ballroom throughout the whole conversation, searching for any familiar faces.

She found one – that of Arabian agent Iftekhar Abboud, who was slouched by the drinks bar. She snorted contemptuously. Rich and lazy, Abboud was rumoured to be one of the most incompetent agents in the business. _He _certainly wouldn't be giving her any problems.

Still, it would be better to report her finds. She brushed a finger over her left earring to activate the microphone, and spoke in soft Russian.

"This is Black Widow. My cover is secure. I have identified one potential hostile. Arabian. Agent Iftekhar Abboud."

Her ears tingled as her superior replied. "This is Markov. I copy, Black Widow. Your instructions are to stay away from Abboud, and tranquillise him if necessary. Do not kill. We cannot afford suspicion so early in the mission."

_"Da,"_ she said, and tapped the earring with her finger, switching the microphone to sleep mode.

She made her way to a group of middle-aged Austrians. One man in particular drew her attention – Gerhardt Muller, Gehlhausen's benefactor. Rich and stupid, if rumours were to be believed.

Smiling invitingly, she went to join the little group. Muller immediately introduced himself, giving her an admiring once-over.

"I am Tatiana Solokova, countess of Petrograd," she said in heavily accented English. Extreme pretentiousness, but Muller was eating it up.

"It is an honour to have you here, lovely countess," he complimented. "Would you care to dance?"

Laying it on thick, Natalia nodded and looped her arm through his. Gehlhausen's benefactor was sure to have some valuable intel for her.

As they waltzed, she posed some perfectly innocent questions about Gehlhausen's security. "You see, Herr Muller, I have some very valuable jewellery with me tonight."

She patted the ruby necklace, gratified when Muller's eyes followed her hands and lingered just a little longer than they should have. "I am very much afraid of having it stolen, especially at a gathering as large as this. You understand, no?"

"I can assure you that you are completely safe, countess," Muller said gloatingly. "Dr. Gehlhausen hired an entire company of security men to watch the perimeter, and more to circle around the room and look out for anything suspicious."

"That is most reassuring," Natalia smiled, eyes immediately finding two of the guards standing uncomfortably at the edges of the room. "But do you not worry about Dr. Gehlhausen's valuable weapons? I certainly would if I was him."

Muller shook his head at her ignorance. "No, no. Dr. Gehlhausen hasn't manufactured any of the weapons yet. He's just finished the blueprints. And don't worry your pretty head about those – they're completely safe in Gehlhausen's vault."

"Such intelligent measures…I assume you planned them all, then?"

Muller puffed up with pride from the admiration in her tone. _"Ja, _it was my idea to hide the entrance to the vault under Gehlhausen's bed." Suddenly uncomfortable, he added, "But you mustn't tell anyone about that!"

Natalia smiled, placing a finger to her lips. "It shall be our secret." Inwardly she rolled her eyes at the man's stupidity, but outwardly she was charm personified. She led the conversation to safer waters, ensuring that Muller quite forgot he had told her anything.

When their second dance was over, she excused herself to go to the ladies' restrooms. Once there, she reactivated her microphone.

"Markov, this is Black Widow. I have found where the blueprints are being kept. Shall I retrieve them now or wait to secure the virus drive first?"

"Black Widow, this is Markov. I copy your check-in. Your instructions are to destroy any virtual backups before retrieving the physical blueprints."

"Copy," she agreed, putting the microphone back on sleep mode. A quick glance around the ladies' assured her that no-one had eavesdropped.

Outside, she slammed into a surprised member of Gehlhausen's guards. Judging by the plaques on his lapels, he was a captain of sorts.

"Apologies, ma'am!" he said, extending a hand to help her up. His eyes flicked down the front of her dress as she stood, brushing herself off.

"You can make it up to me with a dance," Natalia said easily, stepping a little closer to the man. He nodded, hardly believing his luck, and took her arm.

There was a circle waltz just starting, and they made the last couple. The music started, and they were off.

"I love this uniform. So…masculine," Natalia said huskily, running her fingers lightly down the man's chest. Good – no obvious signs of concealed weaponry.

"You're not so bad yourself," the guard complimented.

Natalia laughed, throwing her head back, and patted the man's arm flirtatiously. No weapons there either. Amateurs, then. Good news.

As the guard twirled her around, she noticed a microphone bud in his left ear. Amateurs these men may be, but even amateurs knew the value of staying in contact.

The music slowed, signalling the time to change partners. Natalia brushed a kiss against the guard's cheek, leaving him dumbfounded. He was so busy staring after her that he didn't even notice that she had replaced his gun with a fake from her clutch.

Her next partner, a technician by the look of him, was a better dancer, though no less gormless. He told her exactly where to find Gehlhausen's main computer without even realising he was doing it.

Natalia moved on as the music slowed, shooting a final flirty smile over her shoulder at her technician partner. She turned to face her next partner and froze, all traces of a smile disappearing.

_"Bohze moi," _she swore in Russian. Of all the possibilities, she had to encounter _him. _The only person in the world who could make her fail this mission.

It was, of course, the archer Hawkeye.

He raised an eyebrow. "Hello to you too, Black Widow."

* * *

**A/N: so, what did you guys think? Good? Bad? Great? Terrible? So-so? Boring? Whatever it is, I'd love to hear it. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: hello again! Thank you to everybody who took the time to read Chapter One – glad to know I'm not the only relentless Clintasha fan out there :) **

**And yes, I have seen _Avengers: Endgame, _but similarly to the infamous Farm Scene in _Age of Ultron, _I have chosen to ignore that Nat dies. **

**Oh, and a timeline point I thought I should clear up – this fic is set _after _Iron Man I, but before Iron Man II (for obvious reasons.) **

**That's everything I wanted to say, I think. Enjoy the second chapter, guys.**

* * *

Clint Barton scowled at his files. "This is going to be really hard; you know that?"

It was a rhetorical question. Of course Fury knew.

"Comfort yourself that you know more about the weapon than anyone else there, except for Gehlhausen of course," the SHIELD director replied brusquely.

"Still," he grumbled. "It's at times like these that I wish I had a decent partner."

"It's you who says no to every agent I offer," Fury said, sounding more than a little exasperated.

"None of them can match me."

Fury didn't argue. It was the truth.

Only one person in the world could match Clint Barton blow for blow, and she would never agree to partner him. He trusted the Black Widow about as far as he could throw her, anyway.

Which wasn't very far at all – she was, after all, his match in every form of combat (except archery of course.)

"You're on your own for this one, Barton. Reckon you can pull it off?" Fury's tart voice brought Clint back to reality.

"I hope so," he answered frankly. "What was Stark thinking, giving that maniac Gehlhausen the plans for the Arc Reactor?"

"This was pre-Iron Man, remember," Fury reminded. "But his head definitely wasn't screwed on properly when he made that move."

"Has it ever been screwed on properly?" Clint muttered under his breath. Aloud, he said, "Yeah, and now I have to clean up his mess."

Fury shrugged. "Such are the joys of being an agent. Here's your ticket to Vienna. Go to terminal 5 and ask for Jones. He know the drill, so do you."

Clint gathered up his files. "Will that be all, Director?"

"Go get your weapons – bay 3, as usual. Contact Coulson if you need anything else."

As it turned out, Clint did not need anything else. SHIELD had really outdone themselves this time – he had the weapons arsenal of any professional's dreams.

His bow and arrows would be dismantled and hidden in a briefcase, which he would carry with him at all times. Stark had implanted an artificial intelligence system in the case – at a word from Clint, it would reassemble his bow for him and prepare his quiver. Another word would make it fold out a false top containing regular briefcase contents.

In addition, he also had two pistols concealed in his boots (Stark assured him that they wouldn't show up on any scanners) and tranq-laced darts tucked up his sleeves.

There were tear gas and stun grenades hidden in the pockets of his fancy trousers, and a small vial of amnesiac in his undercoat. He also had virtually invisible comm-buds tucked behind his ears.

Despite all the impressive tech, Clint was not convinced about this mission. It would undoubtedly be one of the most difficult – and dangerous – he had ever attempted.

* * *

Clint mingled as comfortably as possible among all the high-society guests at Gehlhausen's ball. His alias, that of lawyer Colin Bates, allowed him to ask awkward questions without arousing suspicion, a fact he was utilising to its fullest potential.

He was just getting a good clue as to what exactly Gehlhausen had done with Stark's reactor when his target gasped and pointed. "Just look at that woman!"

Reluctantly, Clint looked, and his blood ran cold. _She _was here?

"She's a stunner for sure," he said faintly. "Excuse me for a moment." He left without waiting for a response.

In the bathroom, he flicked on his comm buds. "SHIELD, this is Hawkeye. I have a problem. Repeat, I have a problem."

Coulson's cool voice filled his ears. "Hawkeye, this is Agent Coulson. I copy. What is your situation?"

"Black Widow is here," he said shortly.

Coulson's sharp intake of breath crackled through the microphone. "I copy, Hakweye. Putting Director Fury on the line."

"What is it, Barton?" Fury's brusque tones filled his ears a moment later.

"Not what – who. Black Widow is here," Clint said grimly.

"Shit," Fury swore.

"That pretty much sums it up," he agreed, rubbing a hand wearily across his brow. "Well, what do you want me to do?"

A pause. Then, "Your instructions remain the same. Find and destroy the blueprints. Wipe Gehlhausen's servers. Avoid Black Widow at all costs."

"And if she recognizes me?"

"Avoid a fight. Try to find out why she's here."

"Isn't it obvious? The USSR wants the blueprints."

"They cannot get them. If they do…the consequences don't bear thinking about. Your new priority is to stop Black Widow from retrieving the blueprints."

"Easier said than done," Clint muttered. "But I copy. Hawkeye out."

He returned to the ballroom, apprehension forming a hard knot in his belly. Where was Black Widow and what was she doing?

For a few tense moments he thought he'd lost her. Then he spotted her on the dance floor, flirting with Gerhardt Muller.

"Damn it," he cursed softly. Muller was a sucker for a pretty woman, and would readily tell Black Widow exactly what she wanted to know. He thought he caught a satisfied gleam in the Widow's green eyes as she waltzed with Gehlhausen's benefactor.

"Double damn." He really did not need this now. As if the mission wasn't complicated enough already!

He watched, unsurprised but wary, as Black Widow suddenly left the dance floor, heading for the ladies' restrooms.

"Gone to report your finds like a good little spy, have you?" Clint muttered, eyes never leaving her retreating back. "Well, I'm going to have to listen in."

He headed towards the bathrooms again, choosing the stall closest to the wall. Once the door shut, he opened his briefcase.

"Evening, sir," the AI's neutral voice greeted. "How can I be of assistance?"

"Can you record the conversation in the next room?" he asked it, fervently hoping Stark's technology was as smart as he said it was.

"Certainly, sir. Recording." The little computer whirred softly, a red light flashing on its left side.

Clint waited impatiently for a few minutes, then said, "That should do. Stop recording."

"Shall I play the recording, sir?" the AI asked, polite as ever.

"Do," he confirmed.

Black Widow's crisp voice, clear as though she was standing right beside him, filled the small stall. "I have identified the location of the blueprints. Shall I retrieve them now or destroy virtual backups first?"

A brief silence, then she said, "Copy."

That was it.

"Can you enhance the recording any further?" Clint asked.

"Enhancing…"

This time when the recording played, he was able to hear the tinny voice emanating from Black Widow's comm buds. "Black Widow, this is Markov. I copy your check-in. Your instructions are to destroy any virtual backups before you retrieve the physical blueprints."

He grudgingly resolved to congratulate Stark on his superior tech when this was all over. "That will be all. Close briefcase," he instructed, delighted when the AI immediately did as he bid.

Then he reactivated his comm bud and spoke to the waiting Coulson. "This is Hawkeye. I have discovered that Black Widow already knows the location of the blueprints. However, she has been instructed to wipe Gehlhausen's servers before retrieving them."

Coulson was silent for a minute – reporting to Fury, Clint guessed – then then he replied. "I copy, Hawkeye. Your instructions are to assist Black Widow in wiping the servers, then tranquillise her before she can retrieve the blueprints."

"Copy," he agreed, feeling more apprehensive than ever. "Hawkeye out."

Clint returned to the ballroom, searching for Black Widow's all-too-familiar face. He found her soon enough – she was dancing a circle waltz with a smitten security guard.

He hid a smirk as he watched Black Widow replace the poor man's gun with a fake. She was good, all right.

A sudden idea struck him. Deciding to act on it, he walked to the edge of the circle waltz and tapped the security man's shoulder.

"Hey, mate," he said in his best American accent. "Mind if I take your place? I've been wanting a dance with that woman in black all night."

Looking relieved, the guard agreed. Clint winked roguishly at his partner – a rather pretty Asian girl in a blue dress – as he took the guard's place.

The girl swooned into his arms, clearly delighted with the trade. He hid a satisfied grin. So far, so good.

The music slowed, and he gave the Asian girl a final twirl to send her on her way. Then he waited for Black Widow to recognize him.

Her eyes widened as she saw him, and she stopped dead in her tracks. She swore in Russian, and he lifted an eyebrow. "Hello to you too, Black Widow," he said, a hint of mockery in his tone.

She still hadn't moved. Anger and frustration glowed in her green eyes as she glared at him.

He smirked. She was making a scene; drawing attention. There was no way for her to salvage the situation now.

Black Widow realised this at roughly the same time as he did. Her eyes flicked from side to side, calculating and re-calculating. Then she looked him right in the eyes, a challenge clear in their green depths.

Stepping right up to him, she kissed him passionately on the lips.

Now that was _not _what he had been expecting. But it was a clever tactic. To the people watching, it would seem as though they had just resolved a lovers' quarrel.

Clint knew he had to play along or risk blowing his cover. So he kissed back, tugging Black Widow's svelte frame even closer to his.

She pulled back a few moments later, a small smile playing on her lips. It was all an act, of course – the rage in her eyes made that all too clear.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the dance circle, waving theatrically to the watching people, most of who now wore amused grins. Black Widow followed willingly, obviously guessing his tactic.

Once they were out of sight, she dropped his hand with a threatening snarl. "What are you playing at, Hawkeye?"

"I just secured both our covers," he replied, knowing it would further her anger.

"Why are you here?" she asked, dropping all pretence. He would have to tread carefully – _very _carefully.

"Same reason as you, I'd wager," he said lightly. "Gehlhausen's blueprints."

She made a small clicking sound with her tongue. "Of course that's why you're _here. _But why are you with me?"

He heard the unspoken question clearly. Why show yourself to me? Why not stay hidden?

Clint allowed himself a small grin. This woman never missed a trick.

"I came to offer you my assistance," he said, sounding as frank as he could. "We both want Gehlhausen's servers wiped. Why fight when we can work together?"

"I work alone," Black Widow said simply.

"Maybe so, but together we can work far more effectively. For instance, you didn't know about the electrocution floor in Gehlhausen's server room, did you?"

"Why should I trust you?"

"Don't. I certainly don't trust you. But we can accomplish this mission far more easily if we work together."

"I need to consult my superior," she said after a long pause.

"Oh no you don't! I'm risking my own neck with this cooperation – I don't need my boss finding out from his spyware," Clint argued.

"You're monitoring me." It wasn't a question. He nodded, deciding the truth would serve him best here.

Black Widow regarded him with a grudging respect in her eyes. "Very well then, archer. We work together to wipe the server."

* * *

**A/N: and that concludes chapter two! As always, I'd love to hear what you thought, even if what you thought was _this is absolutely terrible. _Thanks for reading! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's chapter three – sorry for the long wait, but I was away for the weekend with no internet. But as a special bonus, I'm nearly done with chapter four as well – it should be up in the next couple of days. **

**Oh, and before I forget – a huge thank you to TheCosmicBanana for reviewing. I'm so glad you like this story!**

**That's everything, I think. If not, there'll be another Author's Note at the end :) **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Natalia wasn't sure what to think. Yes, she had agreed to play Hawkeye's game, but that didn't mean she trusted him.

The fact that he hadn't mentioned the physical blueprints hadn't escaped her, either. She was sure he planned to neutralise her as soon as the servers were wiped.

She planned the same, but with one key difference – she would kill Hawkeye and rid herself of her main threat in the spy business.

But Natalia made sure to keep her face completely expressionless as she walked down the white marble corridor. Neither spy was willing to walk in front of the other, so they moved on side by side.

The tension between them was electric. They may have agreed to work together, but that could change at a moment's notice. The resulting fight could go either way, and it undoubtedly attract unwanted attention.

Suddenly Hawkeye stopped, holding up a hand. "Guard," he warned.

Natalia acted fast, pushing him against the wall and wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. Hawkeye caught on quickly, resting a hand on her lower back and pulling her face to his.

They were kissing passionately as the guard passed, and broke apart pretending to gasp for air.

"Get a room," the man chuckled.

"Know a good place?" Hawkeye asked, placing a hand on her waist.

"Straight down the corridor, first door to your left. It's a private lounge of the doctor's – should be nice and quiet at this time of the day."

"Would you mind awfully staying away from that area for a while?" Natalia asked, batting her eyelashes.

The guard laughed and waved a hand. "Sure thing. Have fun!"

He walked away still chuckling.

They kept the act going until they were sure he was gone, then Natalia slapped Hawkeye's hand off her waist and marched ahead.

"I could put an arrow through your head now," he called after her, sounding amused.

"You won't. We have a cover together now," she replied curtly.

"And a very enjoyable one too," he said, the laughter evident in his voice.

How did he manage to make her so angry so quickly? She was a highly trained spy; she should know better than being riled up by a few sardonic comments.

But he knew _exactly _how to push her buttons.

"Let's just get this over with," she snapped.

"All hot and bothered, are you?" he teased.

Natalia was tempted to whirl around and slap him into the next century, but her spy training held her back. She realised he was deliberately goading her, seeing how far he could push before she snapped. It was a strategy she understood well. She often used it herself.

_Two can play at that game, _she thought, spinning to face the archer.

"I'm not the only one who's … distracted," she whispered, voice low and seductive.

Real delight shone in Hawkeye's eyes. "You're good, Black Widow," he said admiringly.

"I'm the best," she corrected coolly.

"Not counting me, of course," he bantered.

Natalia stuck out a foot to trip him. He didn't fall, but he _did _stumble. "Very professional, I see," she said, straight-faced.

"That was a low trick – "

" – which you should have anticipated."

He was silent, and she saw something almost like regret flash in his eyes. So he _was _planning on neutralising her, then.

_Well played, Natalia, _she congratulated herself. _There's the proof you wanted before you kill him. _

Instead of the expected thrill of satisfaction, Natalia felt… hollow.

_I don't want to kill this man, _she realised with a start.

_Maybe I could just leave him unconscious? _a little voice in the back of her head asked. She shook her head violently.

"Are you all right?" Hawkeye's voice startled her, but she hid it well.

"Considering plans," she said. "Deciding against most of them."

He nodded, falling back again. She was surprised to find that she was no longer worried about him putting an arrow through her back – at least, she was sure he wouldn't do it right now.

_He won't kill you,_ the treacherous little voice whispered. _And you would kill him?_

_He is weak, _she told herself. _Not killing makes him weak, weaker than me. _

_You're tired of all the death, all the pain you cause. _

_Untrue, _she said, but it sounded unconvincing even to her own ears.

_Stop lying to yourself and accept reality. You don't want to kill anymore._

_No, _she agreed, feeling a surprising relief at finally admitting the fact. _No, I don't want to. But I have to, and I will. _

_Then at least let this be the last time._

_I wish it could be. _

"This is it, I believe," Hawkeye called, pointing to a reinforced steel door in front of them.

Natalia nodded. "Where's this electric floor of yours? And more importantly, how do we bypass it?"

"We don't," he said. "Do you trust me?"

"No," she replied honestly. She might not want to kill him, but trust was something entirely different.

He grinned. "Good answer."

Then he snapped open his briefcase, saying in a clear voice, "Bow!"

His bow assembled itself before her eyes, and arrows rolled into his quiver seemingly of their own accord. "Ready, sir," a computerised voice reported.

"An AI. Impressive," she said with grudging admiration.

"Why, thank you. Now for the test of trust."

"I already told you, I don't –"

Hawkeye cut her off by pointing his bow, arrow loaded, straight at her heart. "You might want to leave the line of fire."

She did, and watched as he calmly fired the arrow into the door.

"Brace yourself," he cautioned.

"Don't tell me you –"

A small explosion detonated on the reinforced metal, crumpling it inwards like a tin can. To her surprise and appreciation, the detonation was almost completely silent.

"Who invents this stuff?" she marvelled, eyeing the unassuming briefcase with something approaching disbelief.

"Trade Secret," he said with a grin.

"Tony Stark? I should have guessed. Well, what does the good Iron Man have for the electric floor?"

"Nothing, actually. This one's all me." He held out a hand, but Natalia folded her arms and eyed him sceptically.

"First tell me what you're doing."

"We don't have time for – fine," he sighed, catching the look in her eyes. "I'm going to shoot a grapple arrow into the far wall."

"And then what? We trail after it like clothing on a line?"

"I love how you catch on so fast. Now step out of the way."

"I hate this plan," she complained, stepping out of the way.

Hawkeye's arrow thunked into the far wall, exactly where she'd predicted. He swept after it, grabbing her as he passed.

They flew over the electric floor like…well, like arrows from a bow.

She landed gracefully on the other side, brushing Hawkeye's hands from her waist. "Let's get this job done. Which is the master computer?"

"Way ahead of you," he said, tapping the briefcase. "Case, log on to the Gehlhausen server and wipe any files containing traces of weapon blueprints."

"Logging on… Identifying files… Wiping." The little computer whirred softly, then spoke again. "Done, sir."

Slow applause echoed through the room. "Very impressive," a new voice said, punctuating each syllable with a sarcastic clap.

Dr. Gehlhausen stepped out from behind the monitors, smiling a shark-like smile. "But not impressive enough, I'm afraid. Guards! Arrest them."

* * *

**Ooh, cliffhanger! Good thing chapter 4 is nearly done, isn't it? **

**If you liked this chapter, please do leave me a review - I really do appreciate them **

**:) **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: How does this lovely Friday find you guys? It finds me with a psychology paper I've thankfully just completed, meaning I'm free to write for the rest of the afternoon. And I intend to do just that!**

**But it's not fair that I'm the only happy one today, and as I recall, chapter 3 ended on a bit of a cliffhanger. Since I'm in such an uncommonly nice mood, with no further ado, I give you chapter four.**

* * *

Clint heard the rustle of silk as Black Widow pulled two fully loaded pistols out from under her dress. He raised his bow, backing up so they were standing back-to-back.

"Do you have another one of those grappling arrows?" she whispered in Russian. He nodded; glad he had taken the time to learn the language.

"I'll distract the goons. Get us out of here," she muttered. He nodded again, readying the required arrow.

Black Widow fired her guns with deadly accuracy, shattering row upon row of Gehlhausen's fancy screens.

Fortunately for the two agents, Gehlhausen's guards were completely incompetent. They screamed and ran around in panic as shards of glass flew around the room.

Clint sighted and fired, pulling Black Widow after him on the grappling line. She threw a smoke bomb over her shoulder, furthering the state of confusion in the monitor room.

He tossed one of his stun grenades into the room, practically dragging Black Widow after him as he sprinted down the corridor.

The blast of the grenade knocked them down, but they were prepared. Clint took the time to remove the pistols from his shoes, while Black Widow strapped on her deadly Widow's Bites.

They stood up at exactly the same time, training their respective weapons at the guard running towards them.

"Oh, it's just you two – whoa!" he cried, raising his hands. Clint recognized the guard who had caught them kissing, and stifled a snort at the man's incompetence.

"Drop your weapons and slide them along the floor to me," Black Widow said in a soft, threatening voice.

The guard did exactly that, keeping his eyes trained nervously on Black Widow's gun.

He forgot completely about Clint, who calmly darted him with a tranquillizer darts from his sleeve.

"No time to waste. Let's find those blueprints," he said casually, subtly scanning Black Widow's face for some sign that she might turn on him.

She hesitated, and he saw a vein pulsing in her forehead. She was hesitating about something, but just how long would that last?

"You can keep the blueprints," he lied as unconcernedly as possible, fixing his eyes on hers and hoping with all his heart that she would decide to take him up on the offer.

Black Widow studied him for a few tense moments, then nodded curtly. While she had undoubtedly detected the lie, she had no wish to fight him here. She would attack once they reached Gehlhausen's bedroom.

He was content to follow, at least for the time being. Anyway, Black Widow seemed to know where she was going. She had probably memorised the house plans.

Clint had relied on Stark's AI to get around. He was beginning to regret that, realising full well that he was trusting the Russian spy with a matter of national security as well as his own safety.

But she had no reason to go anywhere but the bedroom – after all, they both wanted the blueprints.

He felt slightly guilty about his plan to tranquillise Black Widow. But she obviously suspected him, and planned to kill him. He had no choice.

Even if he'd had a choice, he still would have tranquillised her. He just didn't trust her not to shoot him in the back first chance she got.

He was so busy reflecting that he hardly noticed when they reached Gehlhausen's bedroom. Black Widow's voice startled him back to reality.

"Can that AI of yours scan for traps?"

Clint opened his briefcase. "Case, scan door and room for potential threats. Report."

The little computer was silent for a minute, then answered in its neutral tones, "No life forms detected. However, the door is laser-alarmed and triggers a release of the sleeping gas sevoflurane. Both bedside cabinets are designed to explode when any life form enters a two-metre circle around them, detonating with enough force to stun seven men. The bed itself is laced with the chemical somnotoxane, a touch-activated pheromone which induces immediate sleep."

Clint blinked. That was impressive, even by SHIELD standards.

"Do you detect any signs of a trapdoor or other form of concealed entrance under the bed?" Black Widow asked.

The AI ignored her – it was keyed to Clint's voice patterns only. He repeated her question.

"There is a staircase concealed by a sliding floor under the bed. I detect a large underground chamber at its end," the case replied after a brief period of silence.

"Can you deactivate the traps?" he asked next.

The device hummed and whirred, but did not reply for at least two minutes. When it did, the news was not all good.

"The sevoflurane release has been deactivated, and the bombs disarmed. However, the somnotoxane is still in place, as is the alarm system over the sliding floor."

"But can we go in?"

The case responded positively after an only small hesitation. Tentatively, Black Widow pushed open the door.

Nothing happened.

She stepped through, shoulders tensed, poised for attack. Clint followed after a few moments, closing the door behind him.

He turned around and came face to face with the muzzle of Black Widow's pistol.

"Whoa," he said, pretending to be surprised. "There's no need for that. We're working together, remember?"

"Not anymore," she replied calmly, holding the gun steady.

"If that's really how you want to play it." Clint opened his hand, revealing a ticking grenade.

"This will attack any life forms within a twenty-metre radius with a powerful sonic wave. Unconsciousness is immediate. And best of all, it's keyed to omit my particular DNA signature."

Black Widow did not falter. "I could still shoot you."

"You could," he agreed, smiling as the numbers on the grenade ticked ever closer to zero. "But, firstly, I'm wearing a bulletproof vest underneath this ridiculous tuxedo. Secondly, even if you shot me in the head, you wouldn't make it out of the blast radius in time. And thirdly, you won't gain anything by my death. See, my goal is to destroy the blueprints. I know for a fact that you were instructed to do the same should you be unable to recover the blueprints.

"So it's your choice. We can both die, me at your hands and you at Gehlhausen's, or we can both accomplish what we were sent to do."

Black Widow tossed him the gun, genuine admiration shining in her green eyes. "Oh, well done."

"Thank you," Clint said, catching the weapon deftly. "Now, you're coming with me to destroy those blueprints. I don't trust you not to call up Gehlhausen's guards against me."

"What do you want with the prints? You're no government agent."

The sliding floor slid open, revealing a spiral staircase. Clint pushed Black Widow down first, answering only when they were half-way down the steps.

"Those blueprints need to be destroyed. The weapon Gehlhausen is planning will make nuclear bombs look like fluffy baby bunnies. Worse still, it can be DNA-coded to target – or omit – specific people."

He stopped, looking Black Widow in the eyes to convey his seriousness. "With it, Gehlhausen will quite literally be unstoppable."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Clint hesitated to reply. Why _was _he telling her?

"To make you change your mind about getting the blueprints for the USSR," he said eventually.

"I think you're telling me for a more personal reason. You want me to defect from the USSR and join your agency, perhaps as your partner."

"How did you…" he trailed off, realising that he had made a potentially deadly mistake. He had taken his eyes off Black Widow for the few moments she needed to make her escape.

Clint swore under his breath and raced after her. His arrow pinned Black Widow's arm to the wall beside the switch for the sliding floor.

She snarled at him, green eyes cold and hate-filled. "With me out of the way, you can destroy the blueprints in peace. Why follow me and risk losing your only advantage?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Wait. Where's your briefcase?"

"Pre-programmed," he answered smugly.

"In case you were incapacitated," she finished with a nod of comprehension. "Clever. Very, very clever."

"See how well we understand each other? We'd make excellent partners. Hell, we'd be unstoppable as a team."

"I'm not exactly a partnering type of person," she sneered.

"You worked with me to wipe the servers," he reminded. "You would have struggled to pull that off alone."

"But I would have done it."

Clint shook his head, exasperated. "Why must you be so stubborn? What I'm offering is a chance at redemption."

"I can't redeem myself anymore," she said, so softly that he could hardly hear. "Go find yourself another partner, Hawkeye."

"No-one else can match me the way you can. Besides, I want _you _as my partner. You felt it, too, when we worked together. It felt _right."_

She didn't deny it.

He leaned forwards to say something else, but at that moment, all hell broke loose.

The sliding floor exploded outwards, and alarms blared, shaking the whole building. The shock blasted the two agents backwards, and they landed in a confused heap at the foot of the stairs.

"Seems like you got your wish, Hawkeye," Black Widow said, rising to her feet and holding out a hand for her gun. "We fight this one together."

Clint nocked three arrows simultaneously, watching with detached interest as Black Widow readied her pistols. Seconds later, Gehlhausen's guards started pouring down the spiral staircase.

Seconds were more than enough for Clint. He was called Hawkeye for a reason – all three arrows hit their targets, knocking the dumbfounded guards out instantly.

Black Widow's attacks were just as accurate, but unlike him, she shot to kill. And kill she did, without any signs of remorse.

"Let's make a run for it while we still can," Clint suggested, reaching into his pocket for a tear gas grenade.

"Your turn for distraction," she answered, shooting down an unlucky pair of guards. He thought he saw a flicker of regret on her face as they slumped to the ground, dead, but it vanished as quickly as it arrived.

He didn't argue, choosing to trust Black Widow to cover his back. "Hold your breath," he advised, throwing the grenade.

She nodded curtly, firing off a final two shots before following him down the passage. Clint hoped fiercely that his AI had accomplished its mission and destroyed the blueprints, because he sure wouldn't be able to. He froze as the corridor split, cursing under his breath.

He resisted the urge to spin around as he heard Black Widow's quick footsteps racing down the passage after him. If she had wanted to shoot him, he'd be dead already.

"Where's that case when you need it?" he panted as she stopped next to him. She shrugged, sparing her breath.

"There's got to be a way out. You take left, I'll go right. Meet back here."

They split up, each racing up one of the three splits in the corridor. Clint found absolutely nothing, save for some nasty-looking booby-traps.

After five or so minutes, he reached a dead end. Swearing, he turned and sprinted back.

Black Widow was waiting for him. "Dead end?" she enquired.

He nodded, catching his breath.

"It'll be this middle passage then," she said with a scowl. "Why is it always the middle passage?"

Clint hesitated to go in. "Something's not right," he warned. He couldn't explain how he knew – archer's intuition, perhaps.

"And what might that –"

Black Widow froze as a giant harpoon whistled past, missing impaling her by mere centimetres.

"I think you just saved my life," she breathed, sounding half amazed and half disgusted.

"Forget it," he answered awkwardly, glancing down. If he had looked back, though, he would have seen the conflict warring on Black Widow's face.

But he didn't look back, instead forging ahead into the tunnel.

"Careful," she warned, cautiously following. "There could be more –"

"– traps," he finished, too embarrassed to meet her eyes as he swung helplessly in a giant net.

"Just get me down," he grumbled as she shook with suppressed mirth.

Eyes alight with laughter, she cut the rope holding the net. Clint fell hard, landing in an embarrassed heap at Black Widow's feet.

"I know, I know, I should have been more careful," he forestalled, getting to his feet. "Don't you laugh at me!"

It was in vain. Black Widow was positively shaking with laughter. "Your face," she said, not bothering to hide the chuckle in her tone.

Clint tackled her, knocking them both to the floor. He acted quickly, pinning her arms above her head before she could retaliate.

"Not so funny now, eh?" he said, suddenly painfully aware how close they were.

She pulled her legs up to her chest, sending him flying with a well-placed kick. "Should have seen that one coming," she chastised, walking over and offering a hand to pull him up.

He took her hand, pulse racing. What was happening to him?

His logical side answered. _She's a beautiful woman. You haven't been this close to one since…_

He shut the little voice up with a violent shake of his head. He couldn't think about _her, _not now. It would only distract him from the mission.

"Ladies first," he said with a mock bow, hiding his confused feelings behind their now standard sarcastic banter.

"Pay attention, then. _This _is how it's done," Black Widow bantered back, stepping lightly into the passage.

He watched, impressed, as she expertly avoided a trigger wire, a trick floor and another hidden net.

"I don't believe it," Black Widow snarled, rounding a corner and glaring daggers at yet another dead end.

"Shit," Clint swore, hearing male voices echoing up the corridor behind them. He pounded his fists against the wall, hoping against hope that it might be fake or an illusion.

But no. The stone felt very solid and real under his clenched fists, and he swore again out of pure frustration.

Then the floor fell away beneath them, and they tumbled down into a deep pit.

"You _had _to hit the wall," Black Widow said wearily, picking herself up and checking her equipment.

"At least those guards won't find us," he said, pointing to the roof, which was sliding shut.

"Oh, perfect. Now we're trapped. Can this situation possibly get any worse?"

Famous last words. And in this case, good old Murphy proved his law as valid as ever.

Dr. Gehlhausen's voice echoed through the pit. "Well, well, look who found my chamber of secrets."

"Not again," Black Widow snarled, raising her pistol.

Then, quite suddenly, she collapsed. The gun rolled from her limp fingers, and Clint spotted a dart lodged in her upper arm.

"Don't you just love somnotoxane? I know I do," Dr. Gehlhausen said, appearing from a shadowy corner complete with nasty smile and white lab coat. He raised a large black remote control and pointed it at Clint, unpleasant smile widening.

Clint tapped the comm-bud in his ear, activating it. "Protocol Vermilion!" he shouted.

A split-second later, the somnotoxane dart hit his neck. His eyes closed, and he crumpled to the floor, fast asleep.

* * *

**A/N: another cliffhanger! It seems I really like leaving you with those... oh well, like I said, I've got a lovely long time for writing this afternoon. If all goes as planned, chapter 5 will be up in about two** **days. Meanwhile, if you liked this chapter, please do leave me a review! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: if I'm remembering correctly, the last chapter ended on a bit of a cliffhanger. Something about our favourite spies being knocked unconscious by our least favourite doctor? Yes, that _does _ring a bell. **

**Enough of my ridiculousness. I'm sure none of you particularly want to be reading this right now. Because I'm so happy about the reviews I got for the last chapter, without any further ado, here ****is chapter five. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Natalia woke up from a deep sleep and immediately tried to sit up. Why was she sleeping in the middle of a mission?

Her body wouldn't cooperate. Her limbs felt leaden and impossibly heavy, and her head was fuzzy and slow to think.

"Somnotoxane. Aftereffects include dizziness, lack of physical function, mild amnesia and the occasional bout of intense nausea."

She knew that voice, but her mind wasn't what it should be. "Who… What?" she croaked, wishing she'd been able to come up with something better.

"My, you did get it badly," the man chuckled, sounding for all the world like somebody's benign grandfather.

"Dr. Gehlhausen." She suddenly remembered his name – remembered studying his voice patterns. "What the…"

"Since your brain is clearly not yet at its normal capacity, let me spell it out for you. You, Black Widow, and your friend Hawkeye, are now my prisoners."

"Hawkeye's not my friend, he's my worst enemy," she argued, hoping it would seem as though she had forgotten their brief alliance.

"Like I said, amnesia," Gehlhausen replied smugly.

"The blueprints. Where are they?" Natalia asked. Her mind was clearing more with every word they spoke – soon she would be herself again.

"You forgot? Allow me to remind you. Hawkeye's ever-so-clever briefcase AI destroyed my blueprints _and _my virtual backups. _Most _frustrating. However, now I have two of the world's best, most feared secret agents at my mercy."

Natalia's hand automatically reached for her hip, dismayed to find that her pistol was missing from its usual position. So was every other weapon she'd brought, as well as her earrings and necklace.

"Ah yes, your equipment. Most ingenious, I must say. But I simply couldn't have you escaping, you see. Now that _would _be inconvenient."

"What do you want from me?" she asked bluntly, hoping to hide the fact that her mental faculties were fast returning.

"From you, my dear Black Widow, I want the location of the USSR's spy training bases. I also want your real name, and the real names of any and all other agents you can give me."

"I couldn't possibly remember all those names," Natalia whispered, modulating her voice to sound as weak and confused as possible. "And I have no idea where the bases are. They move every year, you see."

"You're a very good liar, Black Widow," Gehlhausen said, walking up to her bed and looking coldly down at her. The threat in his eyes was enough to make her shudder, USSR spy and all.

"But I want the truth, now," he said softly. She didn't miss the unspoken threat – the _or else _was all too clear in his tone.

She laughed, giving up the pretence of weakness, hiding her unsettled feelings behind cool mockery. "Do you really think your words can intimidate me? I have faced far, far worse and come out the victor."

"Don't you see I'm giving you a chance? If you tell me what I want to know, I'll let you go with no further complications."

The doctor's tone was persuasive and soothing now, tempting her drug-addled mind to give in to the reassuring words. But Natalia wasn't the Black Widow for nothing.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" she sneered.

"I would be most surprised if you did," the doctor admitted. "No, you're quite right, I'm not going to release you. You're far too valuable to me right here."

"You might as well kill me now. I won't tell you a thing."

"Kill you? Why on earth would I do that? Your skills are too useful to waste, my dear Black Widow."

"I'll never give you what you want," she said contemptuously.

"Oh, I think you will. You just need the right motivation." Dr. Gehlhausen's voice was threatening now, but even in her befuddled state, Natalia realised that the threat was not real. He had just said he would not kill her – why threaten her now?

"What are you trying to accomplish by this?" she asked wearily. "You and I both know that you won't get anything out of me."

The doctor smiled. "You're a clever one, Black Widow. I only wanted you to speak to me for a while so my computer could pick up your voice patterns." He tapped his watch, which promptly projected a holographic screen covered with sound graphs.

"And then what? You synthesize them? I can assure you that my government won't be fooled. After tonight – last night, I mean – they'll consider me a traitor anyway."

"Not to synthesize, no. I want to run for matches on my database."

As he spoke, the holograph flashed different colours, searching through names and files.

"Have fun trying. My real identity doesn't exist on any database." Natalia smiled smugly as the computer failed time and time again to find a match.

Gehlhausen was silent, brow furrowing. Then he raised his eyes to hers and smiled. "Are you so sure about that, Natalia Romanova?"

Natalia started. "What the…How did you… That shouldn't be possible."

But sure enough, the file was there. _Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Born November 22nd, 1984. Daughter of Ivan…_

"Enough!" she spat. "You've made your point." She was badly shaken, choosing to hide it behind venomous anger.

Gehlhausen's cold smile widened. "Consider that when you answer my next question, Miss Romanova. Do you really want me as your enemy? I want you to voluntarily become my ally. There's nothing I couldn't accomplish with you by my side."

Seeing the doubt in her still unfocused green eyes, he added, "Since your brain has still not entirely recovered, I will give you a day to recuperate and think on my proposal. I expect my answer at this time – exactly 0815 hours – tomorrow."

She nodded, watching him go with mixed feelings. She got the unshakable feeling that this man was far more dangerous than she had thought.

"You're not seriously considering his proposal, are you?" Hawkeye's voice surprised her. She had not been expecting to share a cell, least of all with him.

She sat up, relieved when her muscles cooperated this time. "He spoke to you too?"

"Yeah, while you were still out. I refused, but he told me to reconsider based on what you said. He wants my final answer at the same time as yours."

Natalia was silent, thinking. She couldn't return to the USSR now, not after her unauthorised cooperation with Hawkeye. She would be shot as a traitor the moment she stepped over the border.

Her feelings were very mixed. On one hand, she was pleased at the chance to escape the USSR's all-too-restricting clutches. If she was honest with herself, she had been waiting for this very opportunity for a long time now.

On the other hand, what would she _do _if she wasn't Black Widow? She had built her entire identity on being a ruthless, cold-hearted assassin and master spy.

To work with Gehlhausen would suit her well – she would continue to use her very specific skill set the way she always had. Augmented by the doctor's superior technology, she would be practically unstoppable.

Hawkeye seemed to guess where her thoughts were going. "Why would you work with Gehlhausen? What's in it for you?"

"Everything, "she replied. "I would be able to – "

"What?" Hawkeye interrupted. "You would be able to what? Gehlhausen wants to control you and use you for his own means. If you're anything like me, you want more from life than being some maniac's pet assassin."

"I'm not like you. Killing is what I do."

"But is it what you _want _to do?" Hawkeye asked, surprising her. "Is that really all you want from life?"

"I've never had the chance to do anything else," Natalia said quietly. "I was taken from my home as a very young child and trained to be the heartless killer I am now."

_He's right, you know, _the little voice in the back of her head made itself known again. _You may disagree out loud, but you've lost your taste for killing. _

"Now's your chance, then. Change your ways. It's not too late, not yet, but if you work for Gehlhausen, it will be."

"How would you know if it isn't too late already?"

"Because I saw the regret in your eyes when you shot those guards last night. It was brief, yes, but it was _there, _and that's what matters."

Natalia stared at him, thoughts racing, for once unable to think of anything to say. Sensing her weakness, Hawkeye pressed on.

"If you work with Gehlhausen now, you'll be bringing the world more pain than you can ever imagine. With an assassin and spy of your calibre at his side, Gehlhausen will be able to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. And trust me, the world does not need that. Gehlhausen is dangerous enough with just the Arc Reactor, never mind you to protect –"

He stopped abruptly, seeming to realise that he had said something he shouldn't have. Natalia narrowed her eyes.

"What, pray tell, is the Arc Reactor?"

Hawkeye studied her for several long moments, indecision clear in his troubled gaze. Then he sighed.

"You might as well know exactly _why _Gehlhausen is so dangerous. Yes, he's clever, but not _that _clever. Someone like Tony Stark would be able to stop him quite easily, even if he did have your protection."

Natalia nodded, having concluded this herself. She waited, knowing there was more.

She was right.

"But then he found out about the Arc Reactor – Stark's pride and joy. That's the invention that powers his Iron Man suit. Basically, it's a power source, but the strongest known to man.

"SHIELD – my agency – found out that Gehlhausen had created a plan for a weapon from the Arc Reactor. We don't know what it is, but we know that it'll be ten times more devastating than a nuclear bomb. Gehlhausen plans to make millions of these weapons and become very, very rich in the process.

"Problem is, this weapon can destroy the world. In the hands of a man like Gehlhausen, no-one is safe. And with you to protect the blueprints – and kill off any opposition – he really will be unstoppable."

Natalia was quiet, thinking and re-thinking. Hawkeye was watching her intently, tension clear in every taut line of his figure, obviously waiting for her decision.

"I won't work with him," she said decisively. "I may be an assassin, but even I don't want to see the world blown up by some crazy superweapon."

Hawkeye visibly relaxed. "Good. Then you can help me plan how to stop the maniac."

"We're going to have to work together to get out of here, and I'm sure you wouldn't mind putting a bullet through Gehlhausen's heart," he said defensively in response to the look she shot him.

"You're right, of course," Natalia said, stretching out her arms and picturing Gehlhausen shuddering from the sting of her Widow's Bites. "But I'll be back on my own once we're done."

"To do what, exactly?"

The silence in the room felt charged, loaded with the energy to explode and turn deadly. Eventually, Hawkeye broke it.

"Become my partner."

He held up a hand to silence her inevitable argument. "You said you've never been given the chance to do anything but kill? Well, here's your chance. Your skills would be put to good use helping SHIELD, and it's the chance you wanted to start fresh."

Natalia was shaking her head. Hawkeye sighed, frustrated. "Why?"

"I work better on my own," she said defensively.

"That's not true and you know it. What's so bad about becoming my partner?"

"We don't trust each other," she evaded.

"Trust comes with time. Now stop evading and answer my question!"

"I don't have to answer anything," Natalia snapped, annoyed by his tone.

"We're going to be stuck in here for at least a day and _that's _your attitude?"

"It doesn't have to be! If you would stop asking personal questions –"

"I want to be your partner. I have to be able to ask personal questions!"

"Well, maybe I don't want to be your partner!"

They were on their feet now, glaring at each other. Tension crackled through the small cell.

Natalia swayed, suddenly dizzy, and sat down hard on her small cot.

"Are you –" Hawkeye began.

"Fine," she snapped. "I'm just not myself yet."

"Dizziness is a good sign, at least. It means you're almost full recovered," he told her, traces of anger and frustration still clear in his terse, brusque tones.

"What's next?" she asked, keeping her questions short and abrupt. He wasn't the only one still angry.

"You won't like this one at all," he replied, brow furrowing. "I didn't, and from what I can see, we're very much alike."

"Get on with it, would you?"

"Fine. Next is acute nausea."

Right on cue, Natalia began vomiting uncontrollably. After a brief pause, Hawkeye crossed the room and held back her hair.

The gesture was almost sweet, but it made her realise that Gehlhausen hadn't found all her weapons. She still had her six sedative-laced hairpins.

"Thank you," she said aloud.

"Not a problem," Hawkeye said gruffly, handing her a small bottle of water. He released her hair and sat down next to her with a sigh. "Better?"

She just nodded, exhausted by the sudden and violent vomiting fit.

"Now will you tell me why you're so determined not to be my partner?"

She had to laugh. "Taking advantage of my weakness, are you?"

"I'm a government agent. It's my job to exploit weaknesses," he said with a grin.

Natalia suddenly realised just how close they were sitting. She could kiss his cheek just by turning her head.

_Why did I just think that? I should not have thought that._

_He's handsome, you're beautiful. Attraction is natural, _her logical side replied.

"Oh, are you ignoring me now?" Hawkeye asked, playfulness in his tone. "Let's see how long you can keep it up."

He drew her close and kissed her lightly on the lips. Natalia stiffened, surprised, but not entirely displeased.

"Tell me," he whispered, face still millimetres from hers. Piercing blue eyes searched hers, and she fervently hoped he couldn't see her scattered emotions.

She had used desire as a weapon before – why, she'd done so this entire mission! But now… now her weapon was turned against her.

And it might just be working.

"Intriguing tactic," she said with a small smile, hiding how shaken she was feeling. "But my secrets will stay my own."

"I'll just have to kiss you again, then."

And he did – pulling her flush against him and pressing his lips firmly to hers.

She had to give it to him – he certainly knew how to kiss well.

But then, so did she.

Natalia reciprocated the kiss with equal passion, delighting in the surprise she saw written on Hawkeye's face. She clearly wasn't the only one unused to having her own weapons used against her.

"Tactic backfiring a bit?" she teased, smirking as she took in the archer's flushed face and dilated pupils.

"I'd say it's working just fine," he countered, mirroring her smirk, eyes flickering over her face. "You're about to crack, I can tell."

"Bring it on," she challenged.

* * *

**A/N: so, not quite a cliffhanger, but not quite a resolution, either! Not to worry, though, I'm nearly done with the next chapter. It should be up in the next couple of days. As always, I'd love to hear what you all thought! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: well, that took a bit longer to update than planned, but here is Chapter 6. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Bring it on, she said. _Bring it on._

Well, if that was what she wanted.

Clint leaned in to kiss her again, and she responded immediately with surprising passion.

After a while he deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue with hers and placing a hand on her flushed cheek.

They pulled apart at exactly the same time, both gasping for breath.

"That's enough, don't you think?" Black Widow asked with a glance at the wall cameras.

"So you're going to tell me why you won't be my partner?"

"I was just warming up to you," she complained.

Evading again. There was no way he was letting her get away with that. Shifting a little closer to her, he said firmly, "Then _tell_ me –"

"No."

"Why do you have to be so stubborn about this? If you have a legitimate reason, I'll never bother you about it again."

"I do have a legitimate reason; I just don't want to tell it to you."

He wanted to tear his hair out. "Why?"

Silence. He looked her straight in the eyes and repeated, "Why?"

"Because I don't want your pity. I want your respect," she said at last.

Clint was caught off guard. That wasn't the answer he'd been expecting.

"I know what that feels like," he admitted after another long silence. Black Widow shifted, turning to face him with a question in her eyes.

"I'll tell you if you tell me," he bargained, but there was no more playfulness in his tone. He was serious.

She smiled, but her eyes were bleak and empty. He knew that look. She was remembering.

Black Widow was silent for so long that he began to doubt she would even speak. Then, at last, she did.

"As I told you, I was taken from my home as a child. The place I was taken to – where I was trained, where I was raised – was called the Red Room. They have a graduation ceremony there. They sterilise you. It's efficient. One less thing to worry about. The one thing that might matter more than a mission. Makes everything easier, even killing."

Clint had to stop himself from reaching out and touching her shoulder. _She doesn't want pity, _he reminded himself.

"After that, nothing mattered to me anymore. I became the best of the best. I became the Black Widow.

"But that's not why I won't be your partner. I won't be your partner because… because I don't deserve to be. There's just too much red in my ledger."

She held up a hand to stop his protest. "You've killed before, I know, but not like I have. You kill only when you have to. I'm not like that. I was prepared to kill you yesterday – _would _have killed you yesterday if you'd gotten in my way."

He nodded, unsurprised by the revelation. Black Widow continued, not meeting his eyes.

"I've killed so many people that I can't even remember all their names. Some of them deserved it, but some were just regular people the USSR had a grudge against.

"But that's not the worst. I _enjoyed _the killing, enjoyed the careful planning, the satisfaction of a job well done."

She finished so softly that he could hardly hear her. "I'm a monster, Hawkeye. That's why I won't be your partner."

Clint was moved by the emotion in her voice. "You're not a monster. The very fact that you can think that shows that you're over the Red Room's brainwashing. You may have done terrible things, but that doesn't mean you can't make up for them."

"There's so much to make up for," she whispered.

"Does that mean you're willing to try?" he asked, letting the hope he felt trickle into his voice.

"Maybe," she replied with a wan smile. "But there's still the little matter of my government. The last thing I need now is to go back to the Red Room. If I do… well, I'll either die or come out worse than you could ever imagine."

"SHIELD – my agency – can cover that. Trust us."

"Trust isn't easy for me."

"But you'll consider it?"

"I will," she promised.

They sat for a while in companionable silence. Then Black Widow turned to him, eyes searching. "Your turn, I believe."

Clint nodded, taking a deep breath. She had trusted him with her secrets, now he would return the favour. "I wasn't always an agent, you know," he began.

She nodded, eyes never leaving his face.

"I've always been uncommonly good with a bow and arrows. Before I joined SHIELD, I was a lowly circus performer.

"Then one day I met a woman called Barbara Morse – you might know her as Mockingbird – and fell deeply in love."

Black Widow's eyes widened. She clearly hadn't been expecting that.

"Mockingbird, then an agent of SHIELD, introduced me to Nick Fury, the director. I was hired on the spot. Mockingbird changed my life – and my sister Laura's – for the better. Of course this only made me love her more.

"I was totally smitten. I would do anything for Mockingbird – did do anything for her. In time, we became partners. We were the best SHIELD had, because we knew and understood each other so well.

"Or so I thought. Little did I know that Bobbi was working for AIM, a collection of scientists working to overthrow the world's governments.

"My sister Laura died in an AIM attack. Then I found out that Mockingbird had been helping AIM.

"I felt so betrayed. How could my beloved Bobbi work for the monsters who had killed Laura? Worse still, _I _had worked for them too by helping Bobbi.

"But I still loved her. I couldn't make myself kill her, even knowing that she had brought about Laura's death. So I handed her over to SHIELD, and they imprisoned her.

"Turns out Bobbi had been brainwashed. SHIELD fixed her up, and we were partners once more. But she'd changed. She'd become more violent, more brutal.

"Maybe she was always that way, and I just didn't see it. Either way, I was seeing her more clearly than I ever had before.

"Then I had the last proof I needed. It happened when Bobbi and I were sent to infiltrate AIM and capture their leader for interrogation.

"We got the leader, of course. All seemed well. Then Bobbi killed him. Just like that. _In cold blood. _

"I was horrified, but I could see the justice of the killing. I pretended that everything was fine, when really it wasn't.

"That night, I had the worst nightmare of my life. I dreamed that instead of the AIM scientist, Bobbi was shooting my Laura. My sister. And there and then, all my love for Bobbi left me.

"Bobbi tried to make it up to me, of course, but she never could. I couldn't forget the cold expression on her face as she calmly shot that scientist though the head. And I couldn't forget that dream – where it had been my sweet Laura dying instead of the scientist.

"I broke our partnership, and I haven't had a partner since. I couldn't trust anyone, not after what Bobbi did to me."

"And you're asking _me _to be her replacement?" Black Widow's voice was heavy with irony. "I kill for a living, Hawkeye, and I never cared."

"That's not true, and you know it," he said gently. "There might have been a time where you didn't care, but you do now, and that makes all the difference."

"How do you know I wasn't acting just to extract information out of you?" Black Widow voiced his private fears.

He smiled. "I just do."

Black Widow studied him for a while. Then she allowed herself a tiny smile. "You're certainly more trusting than me."

"Actually, I'm not. You could have killed me at least a hundred times between now and last night, but you didn't.

"But that's not why I told you all this. There's a reason."

"Of course there is."

"Do you mind? I want to tell you what that reason is."

"By all means, go ahead."

"The reason I told you all this was because if Bobbi Morse got a second chance – _I _gave her one, despite the fact that she was responsible for Laura's death – then you deserve one too."

Clint looked her in the eyes. "So I ask you again, Black Widow, for the last time now. Will you be my partner?"

She sat quite still for a few moments. Then she said, "It's Natalia. Natalia Romanova. If we're going to be partners, we might as well do it properly."

Triumph welled up in Clint, and he grabbed Black Widow's – Natalia's - hands and pulled her up, whirling her around in a mad circle dance. "I knew it! I knew you had it in you!"

Natalia extricated herself from his grasp and raised an eyebrow. "I said I wanted to do this properly. I gave you my name, now tell me yours."

"Right, of course. Sorry. I'm Clint. Clint Barton."

"Clint Barton," she repeated. "You have a good name."

"So do you."

"No," she said, suddenly and inexplicably upset. "No, I don't. Natalia Romanova is the name of a ruthless killer who did horrible things without even batting an eyelash."

"People change, Natalia. You're different now."

"But my name will always remind me of what I did."

"Maybe that's not a bad thing –" Clint began, but stopped when he saw the look in her eyes. "Okay, then. If your name bothers you that much, change it. It'll be harder for the USSR to find you, then, anyway."

Natalia started. He could see she hadn't thought of that. "I… yes, that's a good idea. But what should I change it to?"

"Maybe an Americanised version of your name? It'll help you settle into SHIELD better, and you'll respond to it naturally enough. For instance… Natalie Romanoff instead of Natalia Romanova?"

"That's _too _close to my old name, I think. The surname is fine, but the _name – _I want something entirely new. A fresh start."

Clint nodded. "Okay, that makes sense. But who do you want to be?"

She looked at him with a highly uncharacteristic helplessness in her green gaze. "I don't know, Clint. I just don't know."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not very good at this, I'm afraid. I'll list some names, then you tell me if you hear something you like. How's that sound?"

"Start with names beginning with _n," _Natalia suggested. "That way, any new name I choose will still have something familiar to it."

"Good idea. Well, there's Natalie, but you didn't like that. Um… Nora, Naomi, Nicole, Nell, Natasha, Nadine…"

She shook her head at every name he listed, until he got to the last two. Then she jerked and looked at him with an odd intensity in her eyes. "Say that last one again."

"Uh, Nadine…?"

"No, the one before that."

"Natasha?"

"Yes," she said simply.

"Natasha Romanoff," Clint said. He was silent for a few moments, contemplating the new name in his head. From her pensive expression, he could tell that Natalia – Natasha – was doing the same.

"It sounds… right," she said at last.

Clint smiled at her. "It suits you."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, Natasha."

She started a little at the sound of her new name. Then, slowly, a smile began to form on her face. "Natasha," she repeated. "I like it."

* * *

**A/N: I think this is probably the first distinctly _not-a-cliffhanger_ chapter ending :)**

**Other than that, what did you guys think about Chapter 6? Loved it? Hated it? Please do let me know!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: sorry for the late update, guys - I was extremely busy with work all of a sudden :( **

**I was squishing in bits of writing between classes and shows all week, and it finally paid off - here, at last, is chapter 7. I hope you all really enjoy it!**

**Oh! I almost forgot. The sparring scene in this chapter is based on that Black Widow fight scene from Iron Man 2 (the one where she takes out all the guards) and the chair fight scene from The Avengers.**

* * *

Natalia – _Natasha – _was silent for a few moments as she contemplated the day's happenings. First, she had found out she had failed her mission and been captured by the evil maniac Dr Gehlhausen.

Second, she had been given a proposal to join said evil maniac in his world domination schemes, and been given a day to consider before giving her answer at eight o'clock sharp the next morning.

Third, she had gotten into an intense argument with her former nemesis Hawkeye – Clint Barton – about why she wouldn't become his partner.

Fourth, she had spilled her deepest, darkest secrets to the man for no obvious reason – and heard his.

Fifth, she had agreed to become his partner.

Sixth, she had decided to change her name to Natasha Romanoff.

So in summary: she was now Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. Soon-to-be agent of SHIELD and partner of Clint Barton (Hawkeye.)

_Is that really me? _A tiny part of her wondered.

A much bigger part said, _yes! This is the chance you've been waiting for, Natasha. Don't waste it!_

Natasha smiled. "I'm not going to."

Clint gave her a puzzled look. "Not going to what?"

"I am not throwing away my shot."

He grinned. "You sound just like an American!"

Natasha's smile widened. "That was the intention."

"Yup. You're going to make a brilliant partner."

Partner. Not a word Natasha had ever expected to hear. And yet here she was with a new identity and a new life goal – and a partner. It felt… good… to trust someone other than herself for once.

She returned the giddy smile Clint sent her. "I intend to be just that."

"Now that we're officially partners," Hawkeye – Clint – began.

"Don't tell me. 'Let's start planning our escape.' Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but we're on camera."

"I wasn't about to say that," he protested. "I'm a spy too, you know."

"How could I forget?"

"Are you making fun of me? 'Cause that's a dangerous thing to do."

"We're partners now, remember."

"How could I forget?" he said, teasingly parroting her words.

Natasha grinned. "Well played. Now, back to whatever it is you were going to say. I'm a curious sort."

"I was thinking we should learn more about each other. Trust will come easier if we know each other's physical abilities as well as we do our own."

"That's clever. So you want to spar?"

Natasha felt the thrill of a challenge rising in her as he nodded. "I'm game," she accepted. "Let me just change into something more practical first, though."

She patted her long black dress. While it looked stunning on her, it really was very impractical for sparring.

"No peeking," she said, stepping into their tiny bathroom.

A perfunctory scan told her that there would be no way out here – no windows, and just the one door that led into their cell. There wasn't even a shower, just a toilet and a simple metal washbasin. Oh, and the whole thing was under CCTV surveillance.

Natasha pulled the door shut behind her and slipped off her ball gown. It was a definite relief to lose the ridiculous garment.

Underneath, she wore a simple black tank top and leggings. Not exactly her Widow suit, but it would do.

Glancing casually around to assure herself of the cameras' position, Natasha walked over to the basin and washed her hands. She carefully pulled out her hairpins and tucked them into the waistband of her leggings, ensuring that her back blocked the cameras' view.

She brushed her wet fingers through her hair, untangling the snarls. Hopefully it would cover up the hiding of the hairpins.

When she was finished, she shoved the door open again. Clint was waiting for her in the middle of the room, their cots pushed against the walls.

He, too, had changed – trading his dress suit for a simple leather vest and more streamlined pants. He looked more like the Hawkeye she remembered fighting, minus the bow and arrows.

"Shall we go, then?" he asked politely.

Natasha responded by dropping her dress on her cot and somersaulting towards him, legs extending for a kick to the chest. He caught her bodily, trying to smash her to the floor, but she twisted and landed lightly on her feet.

He dodged her leg sweep and aimed a punch at her head, which she ducked under. She leaped onto his exposed back, looping her body round and round until she had the hold she wanted. Before Clint could act, she smashed him down on the floor and went for his throat.

But Clint anticipated that move, blocking her and heaving her down with him. They both leaped to their feet at the same time, eyeing each other warily.

Clint attacked first this time, feinting with a punch then spinning her around and grabbing her from the back. She grabbed his arm, twisting it painfully, and hit him viciously in the stomach.

She brought up her legs for a crushing double kick, but Clint caught her and threw her bodily backwards. She landed on her back and launched herself acrobatically forwards, sprinting towards him with cold purpose.

She leaped onto his chest, wrapping her legs around his waist and ignoring the painful blows he rained down on her. At exactly the right moment, she backflipped, bringing him crashing to the floor.

He recovered fast, jumping to his feet with surprising agility, and met her flurry of punches with his own. They grappled for a while, trading kicks and blows, neither able to reach the upper hand.

Natasha tried every trick she knew, but Clint anticipated every one – or recovered so fast that they lost all effectiveness.

But that went two ways. He was quite unable to get the better of her.

Eventually, Natasha grew frustrated with her lack of progress. Deciding to try something novel, she bit him viciously on the arm.

Clint's surprise lasted long enough for her to pin him against the wall, arms held fast by his own body weight. She smashed his head hard against the unforgiving stone, aiming a knockout punch at his jaw.

But she stopped short, instead stepping back with a quick grin. "Got you," she said smugly.

Clint rubbed his head. "That you did. I wasn't expecting that last move."

"Expect anything," she chided. "That's your main flaw, I'd say. You expect your opponent to fight honourably. Most of the time, they won't."

"And your main flaw is confidence," Clint said, surprising her by attacking and twisting her arms behind her back before she had time to gather her wits.

Natasha struggled, but he was too strong for her. He anticipated her backflip-twist, catching her off balance and re-pinning her.

"That was neatly done," she congratulated, relieved when Clint released her at once. "Were pretty evenly matched, wouldn't you say?"

"I would," he said with a smile. "You fight well, Black Widow. I'm glad you decided to be my partner."

"I'm glad too," Natasha said, surprising herself. "It's good to know someone just as skilled as I am will be watching my back."

"On the subject of watching each other's backs – we're both used to fighting alone, looking out for ourselves only. We need to learn to work together just as well as we worked alone."

"You're the team expert here – you've partnered before. I haven't."

"Mockingbird was entirely different. But I've changed since then, too. This is new to me as well."

Natasha gave him a quick, measuring look, deciding he was sincere. "Well then," she said, "we've no time to waste."

Clint nodded, agreeing. "A good place to start is potential weaknesses. I've noticed that you leave your left side open to long-range attack when you go in for hand-to-hand combat."

She blinked, realising the truth in his words as soon as he spoke them. "Trust an archer to notice something like that," she said, but allowed her tone to reflect that she was impressed.

She studied Clint closely, running through their fight in her mind's eye. "You're too careful of long-range attack," she said eventually. "You make so sure you defend all your sides that you leave yourself open to close-range attack."

"Do you see how well we suit each other? You take care of the close-range stuff, and I'll handle long-range."

"Sounds like a plan."

He opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment the door to their cell opened. Natasha tensed, automatically preparing herself for a fight.

Clint moved closer to her, standing so that they covered each other's blind spots. They watched, tense, as two guards walked in.

At an invisible signal, the duo leapt forward and attacked.

But mid-way through the air, both fell to the floor, wincing. Powerful electric shocks – not unlike her Widow's Bites, Natasha reflected wryly – stopped them in their tracks.

"We should have known it wouldn't be that easy," Clint muttered. She saw the frustration in his eyes as he strained against the numbing effects of the shock, to no avail.

Natasha didn't even try to fight the numbness. She knew from experience with her Bites that it wouldn't wear off for at least a minute. Probably longer. Gehlhausen wouldn't take any chances.

The guards stepped warily into the room and placed two trays on their respective cots. Then, just as warily, they left again, the clang of the reinforced steel door failing to hide the beeping activation of alarms.

Clint regained movement moments before she did, and offered a hand to pull her to her feet. Natasha took it gratefully, as her limbs were still shaking from the effects of the shock.

She immediately inspected the contents of her tray – no potential weapons. In fact, there all there was a hunk of bread, a slightly mouldy piece of cheese and two bottles of water.

"Gehlhausen's really not taking any chances, is he?" she muttered.

"We might as well enjoy the food," Clint said, eyeing their meagre rations. "We don't know when we'll get more."

Nodding, Natasha reached for the least mouldy bit of cheese and tried a piece. "Well, it's edible."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, eating and drinking. Then Clint stood up and began to pace their small cell restlessly.

"I don't understand this guy. Surely he knows what we've chosen by now? I mean, look at this place. It's lousy with cameras. Why feed us and let us regain our strength? Why not kill us?"

"On the off chance one of us is lying, probably. He doesn't want to lose a potential ally – especially not one as powerful as you or me."

Clint looked unconvinced, so she continued. "Also, he wants information out of us. I'm guessing he wants SHIELD stuff from you –"

Natasha broke off, suddenly realising something. Gehlhausen had been in contact with Tony Stark – had learned about the Arc Reactor, Stark's most prized invention. He would know about SHIELD, for sure.

Then what…

"Access," Clint said, obviously having guessed her train of thought. "Yeah, he knows all about SHIELD, but he can't get in. I've got Level 7 clearance – more than enough for Gehlhausen's purposes."

"And there's why he won't kill us. I also have valuable intel for him – I know where the Widow bases are, all five of them. I also know where the Red Room is."

She couldn't help the wince that the name _Red Room _brought on. Clint saw, and touched her shoulder gently.

Natasha sighed and leaned into his touch, for once not minding the sympathy. She deserved it, after all.

"SHIELD will know, too, once we get out of here," she promised, looking into Clint's eyes.

"It'll be our first mission to destroy them all," he vowed.

"Thank you," she whispered. "That means a lot to me."

Clint cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. "Well, we're partners, aren't we? We help each other."

He stood up, suddenly looking more purposeful. "And the best way to help each other now is to rest. We'll drive ourselves mad just sitting around doing nothing, and heaven knows when we'll get the chance to sleep again."

"I'll take first watch," she offered.

"No, _I _will. You've had to remember more horrors than anyone should this morning. See if you can sleep it off. "

Natasha smiled, touched by his thoughtfulness. "A bit of rest would be nice," she admitted. "Wake me up in six hours."

* * *

The next morning, Natasha woke up feeling unexpectedly uneasy. She had rested well the previous day and night – working in shifts suited her. Also, she did her best planning in the quiet of her own mind.

Then why was she feeling so unsettled?

The answer came to her with an unpleasant jolt. Gehlhausen. He would be expecting his final answer – her refusal.

There was no way this was going to end well.

"Are you ready for this?" Clint asked, stepping out from the bathroom and giving her a quick once-over.

She shrugged. "Ready as I'll ever be. What's the time?"

"If I had to guess, around 0630 hours."

"I overslept," she mused. "You should have woken me at six."

"You looked peaceful, for once. I wanted you to stay that way, at least for a little while."

"Thanks, I guess. My turn in the bathroom?"

He nodded, and she walked briskly into the little side room, shutting the door behind her.

Once in the bathroom, Natasha splashed cold water over her face and brushed her fingers through her loose red hair.

Hair. That reminded her. She had tucked her hairpins into the lining of her mattress under the cover of darkness.

_I really hope I fooled Gehlhausen, _she thought with some anxiety, but outwardly she was the picture of casual preparation.

Moments later she stepped out of the bathroom again, flashing an automatic glance around the cell.

Of course, nothing had changed. It was still just a small concrete room with two cot beds, no windows, and a very thick metal door.

Natasha went over to her cot and checked on the hairpins, covering the action by folding up her blankets. Good. They were still there, untouched, undisturbed.

She sat down on the floor and stretched herself in true ballet fashion. Splits, extensions, and contortions of all kinds helped her body snap into the sharp focus it would need for a day of exertion and fighting.

Half an hour later, the door to their cell opened. Natasha dropped her leg, which she had been stretching against her shoulder, and turned to face the foursome of guards standing warily in the entrance.

"Hello, boys," she purred, walking slowly towards them. Where violence failed, seduction often succeeded.

But these guards had obviously been forewarned. They aimed batons crackling with blue electricity at her. "Come one step closer…"

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, her voice sultry. "But I wouldn't mind some… company."

One of the men gulped, and his face flushed as she looked at him. She deliberately tugged her tank top down a little lower.

"Enough of that, Widow," a grizzled veteran of a guard snapped, pointing his electric baton threateningly at her. "Davids, put down the trays, and then we'll be out of here."

Davids obeyed, putting their trays on the floor and backing away. The door clanged shut behind them.

"Nice try," Clint congratulated, passing her her tray.

Natasha shrugged. "It was worth a shot."

Their breakfast was as meagre as was to be expected – a small bowl of oatmeal with a single boiled egg on the side.

They spoke little, choosing to eat and drink in the company of their own thoughts. Both were trying to formulate some kind of plan, but both knew it was hopeless.

When she was finished eating, Natasha pushed the tray off the cot and folded her legs into a lotus position. She stayed like that, waiting.

Barely half an hour later, Dr. Gehlhausen made his appearance. Clad in a white lab coat and a confident smirk, he looked every inch the evil scientist.

"Good morning, doctor," Natasha greeted politely, remaining in the comfortable lotus position.

"I hope it will be one," he replied, eyeing her with calculating dark eyes. "I believe you have an answer for me, Black Widow."

Natasha kept her face serene. "I do indeed."

"Pray tell," the doctor said, but there was an edge of menace to his tone.

"I have chosen not to work for you," she said firmly.

The lines around Gehlhausen's eyes tightened with anger, but he gave her a cool smile. "Very well. But you will regret it."

Turning to Clint, he said, "And what about you, Agent Barton? Will you, too, deny me, or will you be wise enough to give me what I want?"

"You know the answer already," Clint scoffed, folding his arms. "I'm loyal to SHIELD and to Nick Fury."

Rage flared briefly in the doctor's dark eyes, but then he remembered himself and smiled tightly. "A foolish choice."

"Don't pretend you didn't know," Clint snapped.

"I hoped you would see that resistance is futile," Gehlhausen countered. "But perhaps that lesson has not yet sunk in fully. Guards!"

At his call, four uniformed men stepped forward, tasers held ready. Clint tensed, preparing for a fight.

Instead, the doctor pointed at Natasha. "Guards, kindly bring Miss Romanova to my laboratory."

Natasha stiffened, but allowed two men to take her arms. She would rather be awake and alert then limp and helpless from taser shocks.

She felt the cold, hard press of a pistol in her neck and smirked. These men were scared of her.

Clint flashed her a look, but she gave a tiny shake of her head. _Not now._

He got the message, all right, but he wasn't happy about it. She could tell by the way he tensed his shoulders as he glared at the guards.

_I'll be fine, _Natasha mouthed. _I've survived worse._

Again, he understood what she meant. The look in his eyes told her of all the worry and frustration he was feeling more accurately than any words could.

Natasha tried to glimpse Gehlhausen's alarm code, but the grizzled guard at her left yanked her roughly forwards. "Behave," he growled.

She was frogmarched through a seemingly endless maze of white corridors, broken only by thick metal doors identical to theirs.

They stopped at the biggest door yet, and Gehlhausen tapped in a long, complicated code. At the same time, the cameras on the walls scanned his features, matching every tiny detail to the ones on their databases.

"Access granted," a smooth female voice said. The heavy doors slid open, and Gehlhausen gestured for the guards to take Natasha inside.

The room was filled with complicated-looking equipment and computers. But that wasn't what drew Natasha's attention.

In the centre of the room was a large white chair, not unlike a dentist's chair. Thick black restraints covered the armrests, and there were retractable shock bracelets on the sides.

Resistance was pointless. There were far too many guards for her to fight, and they all had tasers, while she was weaponless.

Natasha let the men lead her to the chair and secure her restrains. She prepared her mind for intense pain.

A long, silver needle glittered as it moved towards her on a computerized arm. A bead of clear liquid gathered on its tip.

Natasha closed her eyes.

* * *

**A/N: I know I _said _I'd try to avoid cliffhangers, but it seems like I made one anyway. Sorry!**

**(No, I'm not really all that sorry. I really do enjoy writing cliffhangers – keeps the plot and my ideas flowing nicely.)**

**Kudos to those of you who picked up the subtle _Hamilton _reference in this chapter :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: hi guys! So I've decided I'm going to try to update this thing on a weekly basis - and look, I did it! I'm even a day early! *dances happily around***

**On a more serious note, I feel I should warn you that the next couple of chapters will be _significantly _darker than what we've had before. Clint and Natasha are imprisoned by an evil maniac, and as such, they _will _be tortured at some point. But don't worry too much - I'll try to keep my descriptions as mild as possible (I'll be sure to keep things T-rated.) Anyway, we have a lot of mind games before we get to the actual dark bits. They're not quite here yet, so I'll warn you again in the beginning of a particularly not-so-nice chapter.**

**Now that that's out of the way, on to the story!**

* * *

Clint lay on his small cot, staring up at the ceiling. Waiting. He knew the waiting was part of Gehlhausen's plan – he had no idea what they were doing to Natasha. He had no idea if she was even still alive.

It was supposed to make him vulnerable.

But Clint had been tortured before, and so, he knew, had Natasha. She was strong. She wouldn't break, and so he wouldn't either.

Or so he kept telling himself.

It wasn't the waiting that got to him. He was used to waiting – waiting for the perfect moment to fire his arrow. He was patient, very patient.

What got to him was the _not knowing. _Natasha could very well be dead, and then he would lose the partner he had only just gained.

Then he would lose a friend.

_Be reasonable, _he chided himself. _Gehlhausen won't kill her. She's too useful. _

But the unease remained. What if…?

It had been seven hours at least since they had taken Natasha.

Seven hours was a long time to torture one woman, no matter how strong. Too long.

So what were they doing to her?

* * *

About half an hour later, the door clanged open. Natasha walked in – alone.

"Natasha!" He got up and started to run to her, but something stopped him half-way. _Why was she alone? _

"Hello, Clint." Her voice was cold and hard. Dread filled his belly.

"Are you alright, Natasha?"

She was silent, standing there in the middle of the cell. He noticed with a jolt of unpleasant surprise that she had her Widow's Bites on her wrists.

"Natasha," he said, more urgently. "What happened?"

"Gehlhausen happened," she said, voice low and vicious.

Something was definitely wrong. "What did he do, Natasha?"

Her eyes locked on his, and he was horrified to see that they were flushed with a red haze. "He…did…_this!"_

Leaping forwards, Natasha pressed her Widow's Bite onto his chest, right above his heart. Her eyes were expressionless and cold.

"Natasha, what are you doing?" He kept his voice low and even, noticing that her hand was shaking slightly.

"Kill," she muttered, half to herself. Her eyes met his again, and he knew then that she didn't recognise him.

"Natasha, it's me, Clint. Your partner. You don't want to kill me," he said gently.

Confusion glimmered in her eyes. "Clint…?"

"That's right," he said softly. "Do you remember?"

"Clint…" she repeated in a dazed voice. Then, suddenly, her gaze sharpened, recognition springing to her eyes. "Oh, god. Clint!"

"What did they do to you, Nat?"

She smiled a little at the nickname. "I… he put something in me. A serum of some kind."

"What does it do?" he asked, though he had guessed the answer.

"It's supposed to make me want to kill anything in my path," she said.

At the word _kill, _the red mist crept back into her eyes. "Yes. Kill. I have to kill you."

"No! No, Natasha, you don't. That's the serum talking, not you."

"Serum? What…"

"Fight it, Nat," he pleaded. "For me. For Clint."

"Clint," she echoed. She sat down hard on her cot, mopping her brow. "God, Clint, it's so strong. I don't know if I can…"

"You can," he encouraged. "You're the strongest woman I know."

"Of course I am," she said with a quick smile.

But the humour vanished as quickly as it had arrived. A spasm contorted Natasha's face, and her fingers tightened around the pistol at her hip.

Clint took a deep breath, squashing his guilt, and slapped her hard on the cheek. She gasped, and the red faded from her green eyes again.

"Thanks," she muttered, rubbing her stinging cheek.

He nodded curtly, covertly tucking her pistol into his vest. One less thing to worry about.

Unfortunately for him, Natasha noticed. "You took my gun."

Anger punctuated her every word, and he winced. "It's for the best."

"Gehlhausen was right," she snarled, and he saw the red flood her eyes. "I should never have trusted you."

"This isn't you, Natasha," he gasped, ducking her first punch. "Fight it. Fight the serum."

"You betrayed me," she said simply. The coldness in her voice disturbed Clint – she must be genuinely furious.

"I didn't, Nat," he said desperately, narrowly avoiding a vicious kick. "You know I didn't. I'm your partner. I want the best for you."

"Partners don't betray each other," she growled, voice low and deadly as she attacked again.

Clint was so busy evading her kicks and punches that he forgot about her Widow's Bites. A fatal mistake.

The force of the shock knocked him flying backwards, and he lay shuddering on the floor, unable to move or defend himself in any way.

Natasha approached, wearing a cold smile that reminded him uncomfortably of when she had been his archenemy.

Leaning down, she pulled the pistol from his vest and pointed it straight at his heart. "You deserve to die," she breathed.

Clint's breath came in ragged gasps. "Natasha, no. This… isn't… you."

The gun was trembling in her fingers. "This is what I have to do!"

"Fight it, Natasha. I know you can."

There were tears on her cheeks, contrasting sharply with the red mist in her eyes. "I can't."

"I trust you," he whispered.

Tears crystallised in her green eyes. Her index finger shook, hovering just above the trigger.

Clint watched her, feeling strangely calm despite the agonising shocks that pulsed through his system. "I trust you," he repeated softly.

Natasha's eyes met his, and he saw the agony and helplessness reflected in their green depths. "I'm sorry, Clint," she whispered.

"It's all right," he answered, acceptance welling inside him. He smiled. "Natasha."

Time seemed to slow as she curled her finger towards the trigger. He saw the trigger bend backwards. He saw the smoke begin to form at the muzzle of the gun.

Then Natasha's arm jerked upwards. She stumbled back, electricity crackling across her body.

The pistol tumbled to the floor as she swayed on the spot. Meeting Clint's eyes, she smiled. Then she fell to the floor, where she lay still as death.

Clint leapt to his feet, heedless of the shocks racing down his body. "Natasha!"

He knelt by her side, shaking her gently. "What did you do, Natasha?"

The answer was apparent the moment he looked down her body. Two Widow's Bite shockers clung to her stomach, blue electricity arcing across her chest.

Cursing under his breath, Clint pulled the shockers off and threw them off to his left. "Natasha! Natasha, come on!"

Natasha stirred, then groaned and rubbed her temples. "God, those really do sting."

Clint pulled her up and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She patted his back a little awkwardly.

"Never do that again," he said, voice muffled by her shoulder.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she replied, "Well, it was that or shooting you. You should be thanking me."

"Technically, you still shot me," he corrected. "You missed, that's all."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, all traces of a smile vanishing under crushing guilt. "I failed you. I promised to have your back, and then I almost… I was about to…"

Clint knew her guilt must be horrendous. After all, stammering was _so _unlike Natasha. He had to reassure her, to let her know that he didn't blame her.

Because he _didn't _blame her. He blamed Gehlhausen.

"That wasn't you, Natasha. It was Gehlhausen. You can't blame yourself for what he did to you."

"But what if I had…"

"You didn't. That's what matters now. I'm alive, and so are you."

"But what if I go homicidal on you again? There's no guarantee that the serum's been flushed out of my system."

Clint hesitated. She had a point. "Give me your weapons, then. I can always stun you again if it happens."

She didn't even hesitate, tugging off her Widow's Bites and passing them to him. He reached for the gun, tucking it into his vest.

"I don't think you'll have a relapse, though. You got shocked pretty bad."

"Cognitive recalibration," she agreed. "But I don't want to take any risks. I could never forgive myself if…if I killed you."

"I've got your weapons now," he reminded.

She gave him a look that said all too clearly, _I don't need weapons to kill. _

"I have a solution…but you're not going to like it."

"I'd like it far less if I murdered you in your sleep."

Clint nodded, acknowledging her point. "Fine, then. I was thinking I should… er… tie you to your bed."

Natasha's cheeks reddened slightly, but otherwise she was remarkably calm. "Wow. Okay."

"You're agreeing?" he asked, trying and failing to keep the note of disbelief out of his voice.

"It makes sense," she said, not meeting his eyes. "Just… don't make this weird, okay?"

"It's weird enough already, that's for sure," he agreed.

Deciding that stalling would only make the situation more awkward, Clint stood and pulled Natasha up with him. He looked around the small cell for anything that could serve as rope.

"It'll have to be the sheets," she said, as though reading his thoughts.

He nodded, walking over to his cot and stripping off the sheet. Natasha did the same on hers, pausing for just a moment to adjust the lining of the mattress.

"It'll be best if you tie my hands to the headrest," she said, eyeing the cot critically. "It's metal. Should be hard to break."

Clint nodded again, having come to the same conclusion himself. "As for your legs, I'll have to tie them separately to the sides of the bed."

He dropped his eyes to the floor, face flaming, as he realised the position this would put Natasha in.

She must have realised it too, but she merely said, "Do we have enough sheets?"

"We'll make do," he said, hiding his awkwardness behind brisk efficiency. "Er… if you would-"

"I said, don't make this weird." Face flushing just a little, Natasha climbed onto her cot and spread her legs.

Clint tried not to look at her at all as he tied her legs securely to the bedframe. "Test that," he said, stepping back.

Natasha strained and wriggled, but the sheets held. "It'll do," she said. "Now for the arms."

He made the mistake of meeting her eyes as he approached. He dropped his gaze, blushing like a lovestruck teenager. Natasha smirked.

"You're a good guy, Clint, but you're far too shy sometimes. I've done far worse in the interest of a mission."

"But not like this."

"Just get on with it, Barton."

Muttering under his breath, Clint tied her arms to the metal headrest of the cot. He concentrated on the knots, telling himself not to think about Natasha at all.

She tried every trick she knew to get out of the bindings, but they held fast. Eventually she flopped down on the pillows, chest heaving. "Well done. I can't get out at all."

Clint couldn't resist. "Well, you know what they say about me. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's tying a woman into knots."

Natasha's lips quirked in a smile. "And you know what they say about me – there's no man on earth who can resist my charms."

"You're sure about that?"

"Positive." She looked up at him with playful green eyes. "Don't pretend you didn't enjoy kissing me."

"I'm not the only one who enjoyed it," he countered.

"But you're the one who started it."

"Actually, _you _kissed _me _at the ball, not the other way around."

"Ah, but yesterday –"

"Was for a practical purpose. And it worked, didn't it? You cracked."

"Kissing you had nothing to do with that."

"Then what did?"

"Your story," she said, serious now. "I recognised a kindred spirit in you. I realised that I was tired of killing and death, and that this would be the best way to make amends."

Her voice turned bitter. "And look what I almost did to you! I could have killed you, easily."

"But you didn't. You were stronger than Gehlhausen."

"Barely. What if it happens again, and I'm not?"

"Then I'll be there to help you through it. We're partners, Natasha, and we'll always help each other."

"You should become a motivational speaker," she muttered, burying her face in the pillow.

"You're motivated, then?"

Lifting her head, she met his gaze squarely. "I am. Thank you, Clint. For seeing the best in me. For giving me a second chance."

Clint nodded, suddenly unable to find the right words. He touched Natasha on the shoulder and smiled, hoping she would understand.

She did.

They sat together for a while, neither speaking, content just to be in each other's company. Then Natasha broke the silence.

"Well, cosy as this is, I'm going to have to chase you away. We both need a good night's sleep to prepare for whatever the hell Gehlhausen is going to do tomorrow."

"Sleep well," he said, with just a touch of irony.

She snorted. "Yeah, well. You too."

* * *

The next morning, Clint woke to the sound of Natasha swearing in Russian. He jumped to his feet, instantly alert, and ran to her side.

"What's the matter, Nat?"

She glowered. "These bloody knots are the matter. I've spent the whole night trussed up like a chicken, and I can't even do my morning stretches."

Clint hastily hid his grin. By the looks of things, Natasha was not in a sporting mood. Still, he couldn't resist teasing her at least a little.

"Frustrated the whole night, were you?"

"Oh, aren't you funny. Why don't you wipe that stupid grin off your face and get me out of these things?"

"I'm not grinning," he lied.

"No, you're just showing off your teeth. But I'm serious, Barton. Untie these knots, or else…"

She broke off as the door to their cell swung open. Four guards stepped into the room, bringing their breakfast.

Natasha took full advantage of the men's surprise at finding her tied to the bed. "See something you like, boys?"

The guard who had taken a fancy to Natasha yesterday was here again. He stared for a long time at Natasha spread over the bed, eyes lingering at the neckline of her tank-top, which had slipped down quite a lot.

"That's enough, Davids," the grizzled guard snapped. "It's just another of the Widow's tricks to try and soften us up."

Natasha batted her eyelashes. "I can't move at all, you know."

Clint tensed, watching Davids with a sudden, irrational anger. If he put one foot out of line…

Davids blinked and shook his head. Lust glazed his eyes.

Clint felt like punching him in the face. Insolent bastard. As if Natasha would ever…

She gave him a quick warning look. _Don't mess this up for me._

He stepped back, lying down casually on his cot, doing his utmost to hide the hot anger simmering in his belly. Davids spared him a glance, then turned back to Natasha.

Natasha rolled forwards a little, "accidentally" tugging her tank top down even lower. Davids took a hesitant step forwards.

"Pull yourself together, Davids!" the grizzled guard barked. "Taylor, put those trays down and get Davids out of here."

A tall blond guard – Taylor – grabbed Davids's arm, pulling him towards the door.

"Good riddance," Clint muttered as the men left.

"Don't be so protective," Natasha scolded. "You looked as though you were going to punch someone. I can take care of myself, you know."

"I know that," he snapped, needled. "I just didn't like the way he was looking at you."

To his surprise, Natasha laughed. "You sound almost… jealous!"

"I do not!"

"Oh yes you do. You looked positively furious when that Davids gaped at me. Why, the scowl on your face…"

"I was just being protective of my partner."

"While that's really sweet, it's also really unnecessary. I had him ready to do anything for me!"

"The grizzly guy saw right through you, though."

Natasha shrugged, unconcerned. "But Davids didn't. If I had a little more time to work on him…"

"Yeah, great strategy. Bat your eyelashes at the first guy that catches your fancy and hope he'll get you out of here."

"It's not as though _you _were doing anything!"

"I would've, if you'd given me a chance!"

"You would have _what, _exactly? Asked nicely for your bow back?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

Clint walked over to her, shaking with anger. Without looking at Natasha's face, he quickly untied the knots binding her to the bed.

She grabbed his arm as he turned away. "Clint, wait."

He spun to face her, anger still not spent. "What?"

"Look, we have to put our differences aside. If Gehlhausen tries the same trick on you as he did on me, we really can't be angry at each other. It makes the serum's effects worse."

Clint took a breath, calming himself. "You're right."

"And you're still angry."

"I'll calm down. Just… don't talk to me for a while."

Hurt flashed in Natasha's eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it had arrived. She shrugged and went to pick up her breakfast tray.

Clint kept his eyes fixed on the oatmeal as he ate. It was grey and lumpy and wholly unappetising.

After a half-hour or so of silence, he cleared his throat and spoke. "So. Are we okay again?"

"Fine," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"Natasha…"

"We're fine, okay? What more do you want?"

Clint stood and strode purposefully towards her. "I want what I've always wanted. I want you to be my partner. _Properly."_

Natasha gathered herself and flashed a smile so dazzling he was almost fooled. "Of course."

_Almost _fooled.

But he could see she was pretending.

"Natasha…"

She sighed. "All right, all right. I should have known not to try that trick on you."

"Yeah, you should've," Clint said, hiding how much her smile had affected him. She had looked so… _radiant. _

It had been an act, of course. But a bloody good one.

"I'm sorry," she said contritely.

"Me too," he mumbled. "I was a bit of an ass."

She scoffed. "A bit!"

Clint bumped her shoulder with his. "Don't push your luck."

Natasha batted her eyelashes. "You drive me to this, sweetheart."

The endearment shocked Clint even more than the smile had. Sure, he knew Natasha was toying with him, but still.

"I try," he grinned, doing his best to hide his unsettled feelings. This woman would be the death of him – she really knew _exactly _how to push every last one of his buttons.

Natasha looked about to say something else, but then the door opened. Instinct took over, and the two spies immediately stood back-to-back, covering each other.

Dr Gehlhausen smiled his shark's smile. "How touching."

"Your serum failed," Natasha said coldly. "We're both alive."

"I had no doubt that would be the case," the doctor said casually. "And no, Miss Romanova, my serum did not fail. You merely overcame its effects – an impressive feat, I must concede."

Clint gritted his teeth. "Why are you here?"

The doctor turned to him, creepy smile still in place. "Why, I've come to pay my favourite agents a visit."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You've come to collect one or both of us for torture. We're not stupid."

"Very astute of you, Miss Romanova. And you are correct, as usual." Gehlhausen walked towards them, dropping the grandfatherly act. "Mr Barton, you have the choice of coming with me of your own free will, or having my guards drag you there unconscious."

Clint could feel Natasha's muscles tense. She was prepared to fight, if that was what he chose.

But he couldn't risk it. The chances of one of them getting hurt – or worse – were too big.

"I'll come with you," he said curtly.

Gehlhausen's smile returned full force, more shark-like than ever. "I knew you were a reasonable man."

Four guards strode towards him, tasers held ready. Clint made no resistance as they marched him out of the cell.

He turned and caught Natasha's eyes just before the door clanged shut. _Whatever happens, I'll be there for you, _her look seemed to say.

Clint smiled at her to show he had understood, then let the men lead him on. He had no doubt they would do something terrible to him – but with Natasha's help, he was sure he could overcome anything.

* * *

**A/N: so, that concludes Chapter 8! I hope you all enjoyed it - if you did, please drop me a review and let me know! **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: another on-time update, yay! I'm getting good at this!**

**In the previous chapter, I warned that the story would be getting significantly darker as time passed. That still holds true, I'm afraid, and this chapter is where it starts. Don't worry, there are no torture scenes yet (that'll only come at about Chapter 13, if things actually go to plan.) However, the first half of this chapter is distinctly _not_ for sensitive readers. WARNING for fairly strong sexual undercurrents and manipulation. (It still makes the T-rating, though, so it's not that bad.)**

**As always, I'd love to hear what you guys think about this story - seriously, reviews make my day. **

**That should be all - on to the story!**

* * *

Natasha put her time as the sole occupant of the cell to good use. First, she stretched out every last muscle, relieved to shake off the ache. Being tied up for the night definitely did not agree with her.

Next she tested the limits of her acrobatic skills – running up the walls parkour-style, balancing on the narrow cots, and performing flips and somersaults of every imaginable kind.

She wished she had a gun to practice her marksmanship, but of course there wasn't one. She contented herself with a rigorous karate session.

Natasha would have been perfectly happy to keep training all day, but realistically, she knew that would be a bad idea.

So after the guards brought her afternoon meal (some bread and two bottles of water) she rested her tired body.

If Gehlhausen put the same serum in Clint as he had in her, she couldn't afford to be tired. One mistake could quite literally bring her death.

So Natasha folded her legs into the lotus position and meditated.

Meditation was a skill she had picked up while on a mission in Japan. Her mark had been a huge fan of the art, and so she had pretended to be an eager student.

Natasha had since been very grateful to the man for his excellent tuition. Meditation helped her clear her thoughts and plan better, and it always refreshed her body after a workout, no matter how intense.

The trance-like state also sharpened her already keen senses. When the guards brought Clint back, she would be ready for anything.

* * *

Natasha began to worry when Clint hadn't arrived by sunset. What was taking so long? Her serum-injection session had been a mere seven hours. This had been at least ten.

When the guards brought her dinner, Natasha began to worry even more. There was only one tray.

"Where is Hawkeye?" she snapped at the men who had brought it.

"Don't answer," the grizzled guard barked. Natasha was beginning to develop a severe hatred for the man. No matter what she said or did, he was onto her in a matter of seconds.

She made a silent vow to kill – _no, Natasha, not kill, you're reforming! – _paralyse the man herself when they escaped.

She pictured him sprawled on the floor, shuddering from the electricity of her Widow's Bites. Yes, she would enjoy that.

Annoyance aside, Natasha noticed that the meagre rations had changed. Instead of plain bread and cheese, the tray now held some kind of chopped tuber spiced with orange saffron, oysters on a bed of celery, and a little bowl of pistachio nuts.

"What are you trying to do, Gehlhausen?" she wondered.

If the doctor had wanted to poison her, why waste fancy food doing so? A sprinkle of arsenic in her water would have done the job just fine, and she would never have realised until it was far too late.

Tentatively, Natasha took a bite of the tuber. Its sweet taste surprised her. "Now where have I had this before?" she muttered, trying to think.

Suddenly it hit her. "Maca root! Gehlhausen, you bastard…"

She looked at the tray of food in an entirely new light. Maca root, saffron, oysters, celery, pistachios – all well-known for their aphrodisiac qualities.

Snorting in disgust, Natasha dropped her fork. Then, with a snarl, she picked it up again. No point wasting food – there was no guarantee she would get more.

Were the aphrodisiacs working? Natasha couldn't be sure, but she had a more pressing problem on her mind.

Why? Why give her these specific foods? What was Gehlhausen's plan?

_I've been trained for years not to show any emotion. A few aphrodisiacs will hardly cause me to jump my partner._

Because that must be what the doctor wanted. If she and Clint did… that, they would lose their focus and escape would be near impossible.

Gehlhausen's versatility surprised and unsettled Natasha. The man was clever, no question. He wasn't wasting time on torture – he knew that the two spies had been trained against that.

Instead, he turned their own minds and bodies against them. It was every spy's worst nightmare, and it would drive many to breaking point.

Would it drive _her _to breaking point? For the first time in her life, Natasha was uncertain if she could remain strong.

_You're not alone, remember? You have Clint._

Feeling somewhat reassured, Natasha finished her meal and pushed the tray away. With Clint's help, she had overcome the _kill _serum. A few aphrodisiacs in her meal would hardly snap her control.

Natasha's musings were interrupted by the cell door opening. The usual four guards strode in to collect her tray.

She yawned and stretched herself out on her bunk, acting completely unconcerned. So far, so good – nothing out of the ordinary in the aphrodisiac department.

Then Clint strode into the small room.

Natasha felt a tingle in her belly, but quickly suppressed it. It was harder than she had expected, but she managed to quell the strange feeling almost as quickly as it had arrived.

"Natasha!" Clint called, pausing in the middle of the room and looking around for her. His normally clear blue eyes looked glazed and unfocused, the pupils widely dilated.

"I'm here," she said, stepping off her cot and cautiously approaching. Why hadn't he spotted her immediately? They were spies, used to observing every tiny detail in their surroundings.

Clint reached her side in two quick strides and grabbed her arm. Instinctively, Natasha judo-flipped him over her shoulder.

But Clint was Clint, drugged or no. He righted himself half-way through the air, landing lightly on his feet instead of crashing to the floor.

Instead of immediately attacking again as she'd thought he would, he stood still, raising his palms in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Nat," he reassured. "I just wanted to make sure you were real."

"I'm real, all right. Why –"

"The serum Gehlhausen gave me makes everything muddled. None of my senses are working the way they should – my vision, especially, is going crazy. I see flitting shapes that aren't – can't – be there."

He staggered suddenly, and Natasha steadied him with a hand to the shoulder. "Do you want to sit down?"

"I'm fine," he said, straightening and giving her a convincing smile. Or at least it _would _have been convincing if his eyes weren't so glazed.

"Sit down," she ordered, giving well-placed jab to his solar plexus that caused him to give a surprised step forward.

"You don't understand," he gasped, his voice oddly strained.

"You're right, I don't," she agreed, giving him a concerned look. "But I can see that you're most definitely not _fine."_

"Don't come any closer!" he snapped suddenly. Natasha froze, one hand poised to brush his shoulder.

"What's wrong, Clint? _What's wr –" _

He cut her off by crashing his lips against hers.

For a few seconds, time stretched and warped for Natasha. She stood still as a statue, emotions warring fiercely inside her confused head.

She _wanted _this. She was unsure if it was her own free will or the aphrodisiacs speaking, but she definitely wanted this.

Reality surged back the next second as Natasha wrenched back control over her wayward feelings. Sure, her body wanted this, but her mind knew it was wrong. She had to put a stop to this… whatever it was.

Natasha shoved Clint off her after just a moment's hesitation. He stumbled back, reeling from the power of her strike.

"God, Nat, I'm so sorry," he said fervently. "It's this serum… I can't…"

"It's okay," she said softly. "I'm fine."

Contrary to her calm exterior, her thoughts were racing wildly. Gehlhausen must have given Clint some form of aphrodisiac serum, augmenting the attraction that already pulsed between them.

Because there _was _attraction between them, no point in denying it. Gehlhausen had obviously picked up on this weakness, and decided to exploit it to his advantage.

And the kiss. Natasha's thoughts kept returning to the moment when he had pulled her close and kissed her.

It had been different to the other kisses they had shared. It had been… genuine, while the others were faked or for interrogation purposes.

_Pull yourself together, _she scolded herself fiercely. _Stop this… this romantic delusion. You can't have a relationship with Barton. Relationships lead to distractions, and distractions get you both killed. _

Natasha glanced over at Clint, hoping he had missed her internal struggle. Fortunately for her, he wasn't even looking at her.

In fact, he was deliberately avoiding looking at her. She could only imagine how difficult resisting the serum was – looking at her would only make his job even more difficult.

She moved as quietly as she could (which was very quietly indeed) to her cot so as not to disturb Clint. The less aware of her he was, the easier it would be for him to resist the serum's aphrodisiac effects.

"Nat?" Clint asked after a few minutes of complete silence. He kept his back to her, but she could see him straining to sense her.

"I'm here," she said, and she _knew _that he had understood the unspoken message in her words – _I'm here for you. _

"Nat, I can't resist this serum thing much longer," he warned, the strain clearly evident in your voice. "Even though you're being so quiet, I can still sense your presence behind me."

Natasha furrowed her brow. "Sense my presence? How?"

"I'm not sure," Clint admitted. "I can just _tell _you're there. It's probably a side-effect of the serum – Gehlhausen mentioned it was coded specifically to your DNA."

Natasha was silent, surprised. Gehlhausen really wasn't holding anything back. She wondered with a trace of apprehension just how far the man was willing to go.

Clint's body was visibly shaking, his arm muscles straining as he tightly clenched his fists. The serum's effects were unrelenting, and she could see that in a few moments he would be unable to resist any longer.

Deciding to make the first move, Natasha rose from her cot and walked lightly over to Clint's. Her timing was perfect – as she reached the cot, Clint spun around to meet her.

His light blue eyes had darkened to a stormy grey, their pupils dilated under the serum's aphrodisiac effects. His face was flushed, his whole body practically shuddering with desire.

Natasha winced as Clint shoved her roughly against the wall, pinning her against the hard surface with no hope of escape. Their eyes met, and with a muffled swear word, he brought his lips to meet hers.

Natasha gasped and bit back a moan at the passionate contact. She placed a hand on Clint's muscular bicep and tangled her tongue with his, kissing him with more intensity than she had ever kissed anyone before in her life.

Clint hissed another curse against her lips, then wrapped an arm around her, lifting her with no apparent effort and dropping her on the cot. Natasha lay there with her chest heaving, green eyes following Clint's every movement.

He leaned down and kissed her again, crouching over her with his knees on either side of her chest. His eyes met hers, and she read the guilt clearly in their blue depths. _I'm sorry, Nat, _he seemed to say. _I just couldn't resist any longer. _

Natasha hooked a leg around his waist, pulling his body close to hers and kissing him passionately. _It's okay, _she tried to tell him without words. _I've got this. _

Clint placed a hand on her stomach, gently tugging up her tank top. Natasha shuddered a breath against his lips as his fingers brushed the curve of her breast.

_I have to end this, now, _she thought, shoving away her guilt. _If he had his senses, Clint would have done the same. _

Natasha wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. One hand's fingers ran gently through the archer's short blond hair, while the other located the nerve cluster at the base of his neck.

"Cognitive recalibration," she whispered against his lips as he broke the kiss to snatch a quick breath. "You'll understand when you wake up."

Before Clint could react, she pinched the nerve cluster.

Clint's eyes rolled up in his head, and his dead-weight dropped down onto her body. "Oof," she grunted.

Getting out from under his unconscious body proved harder than Natasha had thought, but she managed it after a minute or so of wriggling. Sliding her hands under her partner, she heaved him off his stomach and flipped him onto his back.

Clint's expression was frozen in an accusing glare. _You were playing me the whole time! _

"Afraid so," Natasha said, pulling his arm out from under his body. "But when you get your senses back, I'm sure you'll agree that I did the right thing."

Stepping back, she folded her arms. "I shouldn't feel guilty about this. I did what I needed to do. You would have done the same."

The accusation on Clint's unconscious face did not lessen. _We're partners! _She could practically hear the hurt in his tone. _You lied to me, manipulated me and then knocked me out. _

"I did what I had to do," Natasha repeated.

Turning away, she strode over to her cot and dropped down with a shuddering sigh. After a minute or so of staring at the grey cement walls, she tentatively brought a hand to her lips.

The soft touch was enough to send a thrill of desire shooting through her entire body.

Natasha collapsed onto her back, gasping for breath.

Just one little touch, and she lost her hard-won control over her mind. She was jerked powerfully back into the memory of Clint's lips on hers, Clint shoving her against the wall and kissing her until she wanted to collapse into his arms, Clint's lips on hers, Clint leaning over her on the bed, his eyes glazed with lust, Clint's lips on hers, kissing her and kissing her and kiss –

_Stop! _

Natasha didn't bother lying to herself. She wanted Clint; wanted him more than she had ever wanted anyone else.

She _wanted _him to kiss her again, _wanted _him to go through with it this time, _wanted _him to –

"Get a grip," she said aloud. "This is _exactly _what Gehlhausen wants."

The thought was enough to rally her. She definitely did not want to do anything that would give Gehlhausen an advantage.

Rising from the cot, Natasha strode up to the camera in the corner and shoved her face right in front of its lens. "Gehlhausen! I know you can see me, and I know you are watching me right now."

"So I want to give you a little message. Just between you and me." Her voice was soft, almost loving, but she spoke the words with enough menace to send a roomful of armed guards sprinting for the exit.

"I am going to find your weakness, Doctor Gehlhausen," she said softly. "I am going to find it, and when I do, I am going to torture you with it until the memory is burned irrevocably into your mind."

She narrowed her eyes into green slits, smiling in a way that she knew was truly unsettling. "This is a promise from the Black Widow."

Then she smashed the camera.

* * *

**A/N: there we go! Please do tell me what you guys thought**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: this update is nearly a week early! I'm so proud of myself! **

**The last two chapters had to have content warnings (sorry sensitive readers) but, you'll be glad to note, this one does not. That doesn't mean it's all sunshine and butterflies, though – far from it, actually. There's a lot of angst and fairly graphic descriptions of some not-so-nice things Natasha did. If that's not your thing, then, well, it's probably best if you quit this fic now. **

**In case that's got you worried, let me ease your minds – there _will _be a happy ending, but it's going to be a long road to get there. **

**That's enough of my rambling – on to the story.**

* * *

Clint woke up with a pounding headache and the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Every tiny crack and water-mark in the grey cement ceiling was familiar – he had spent several hours tracing those very lines when Gehlhausen had given the serum to Natasha.

_Natasha. _

Bolting upright, he scanned quickly around their cell, horrified to see no sign of her. He breathed out silently in relief when he heard the toilet flush – probably not the normal response for that particular sound, but to him it meant everything. It meant she was alive and well. Not gone. Not dead. Nothing like that.

Moments later, Natasha herself appeared, walking briskly into the main cell. She paused briefly when she saw him awake, then took the few steps that would take her to his side.

"So much for my planning to be by your side when you woke up," she said drily, settling down on her own cot.

"I don't mind," he said, giving her a cheerful look. "How are you feeling this morning?"

She looked a little taken aback. "Oh, I'm… I'm fine, thanks."

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

"No…no," she said, forcing a smile to her lips. But he wasn't fooled. He didn't miss the slight frown on her brow, or the way she narrowed her eyes slightly to study him intently.

"Is everything all right, Nat?" he asked as casually as he could.

"Why wouldn't it be?" she responded tartly.

He frowned. "About a hundred reasons, first and foremost being the fact that I can't remember a thing from last night."

Something like relief flitted into her gaze, but was gone so quickly he couldn't be sure he had really seen it. "That's not good," she said lightly. "But you don't have to worry about a thing. Nothing happened last night."

This, more than anything, made him certain that something _had _happened. What it was, he couldn't say, but judging by the vehemence of her denial, it must have been pretty big.

"Don't lie to me," he said coolly. "What happened last night, Natasha?"

He saw her hesitate, most probably concocting some kind of elaborate ruse so she wouldn't have to tell him the truth.

"Don't even try," he said, giving her a direct look. "I want the truth and nothing else."

She sighed deeply. "Clint…"

"We're partners, Natasha. You've got to tell me these kinds of things."

She winced. "I know, it's just… You're a really good guy, and I don't want you to hate yourself because of what Gehlhausen –"

"What did that maniac make me do?"

"You didn't do it," she assured him. "I stopped you in time."

"Thanks," he said, relief flooding his mind. "But what exactly –"

"He gave you a serum," she said carefully. "One that was specifically coded to my DNA."

Clint nodded. "Okay… what did this serum make me want to do?"

She furrowed her brow. "It wasn't your fault, okay? You couldn't control –"

_"Stop evading the question!"_

"Fine! Fine." She took a deep, calming breath, then spoke emotionlessly, not meeting his eyes. "It was an aphrodisiac. A strong one."

Clint sucked in his breath sharply. No wonder Natasha had been so reluctant to tell him.

"I'm really, really sorry for – for anything I did," he said, giving her an earnestly apologetic look.

She smiled tightly. "Like I said, nothing happened. I stopped it in time."

"But did you… are you…" He wanted to ask if she was _all right, _but the words stuck in his throat. Of course she wasn't.

"I'm _fine, _Clint. Really," she said.

"That is very reassuring," Dr Gehlhausen's voice echoed through the cell. "We wouldn't want you to be _compromised _for our next session, now would we?"

Natasha glared around the empty cell.

"There," Clint said softly, pointing out a tiny speaker bud underneath the left camera, which seemed to have been smashed.

Smashed? Why would it have been smashed?

"Natasha?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Not now," she answered tersely.

He nodded curtly. That particular camera might have been smashed, but there were at least three others in the cell.

Gehlhausen spoke again, mockery evident in his tone. _"Natasha, _is it? How touching."

"That's none of your business," Natasha snarled.

"Oh, but it is," the doctor said, and Clint could just picture the gloating sneer on his face. He clenched his fists to stop himself from saying or doing something he would regret later on.

"You seem to have forgotten just who you are, Black Widow," Gehlhausen continued, menace dripping from every syllable. "I think it's time for a little reminder, don't you?"

The doors of the cell swung open, and four armed guards marched into the cell.

Clint shifted uneasily, instinctively placing himself in front of Natasha.

"Move aside, Hawkeye," the grizzled guard ordered, waving his stun baton threateningly.

Clint gave Natasha a quick, worried glance, but she jerked her head sharply to the side. _Move._

Reluctantly, he moved, letting the guards take Natasha and march her towards the door.

She didn't bother struggling – she knew she had no chance, even with Clint's help.

He knew it too, but that didn't make it any easier to watch them taking her away.

* * *

"I'm sure you're horribly curious to know what I'm doing to your friend," Gehlhausen's voice spoke out of the blue. Clint sat up, startled – after nearly an hour of silence, to say the sudden communication was unexpected was putting it mildly.

"It crossed my mind, yes," he deadpanned.

Gehlhausen chuckled – actually chuckled, the bastard. "Your sense of humour never fails you, does it, Hawkeye?"

"Why should it?" he asked. "I've been held captive before. This is nothing new to me." He even managed to sound mildly bored.

"I admire your… what is the word you Americans use? Sponk? No, _spunk. _I admire your spunk. However, I have to disagree with you. You have never dealt with anyone or anything remotely like me."

"They all say that," Clint said, exaggerating a yawn for the cameras' benefit.

Gehlhausen chuckled again. "You amuse me, Hawkeye, truly you do. I could watch this for hours."

Clint couldn't resist. "What have you been doing the past few days, watching the rugby league?"

"Sadly, no. I've been kept rather busy by you and that partner of yours continually managing to overcome my serums. Have I mentioned that I am actually rather impressed by that?"

"No, but thank you so much for the compliment," Clint said drily.

"Noted," Gehlhausen said, not recognising the sarcasm. What _was_ it with egotistical maniacs and not recognising sarcasm?

"However, paying you compliments wasn't the purpose of my communication –"

"Hard to believe."

"No, I contacted you to soothe your gnawing curiosity. I'm sure it's just _terrible, _sitting all alone in the cell with no idea if Black Widow even still lives."

Clint gritted his teeth. "You wouldn't kill her. She's too useful."

"But can you be certain?" the doctor mocked, voicing the private fear that just wouldn't leave, no matter how well he argued against it.

"Yes, I can," he said with a lot more bravado than he felt. "You wouldn't risk it, in case it made me refuse to tell you anything out of honour for Natasha. That's exactly what I _would _do, by the way."

"Interesting," Gehlhausen said. "Not the reason I had in mind, but interesting nonetheless."

"Stop mocking me and tell me what it is you wanted so I can go back to my meditation in peace," Clint snapped, finally losing his patience.

The doctor laughed cruelly. "I don't think you'll be doing that, Hawkeye. But as you wish. I initiated this communication to show you… this."

Right on cue, one of the cameras swivelled and projected a screen onto the opposite wall. It flickered, and displayed a video feed split into two sections.

One showed Natasha strapped onto a black chair in a steel pod, two electrodes attached to her temples. The other was blank.

"I don't understand," Clint said, nevertheless uneasy. Electrodes were never a good sign.

"You will in just a moment," Gehlhausen said, sounding inordinately pleased with himself.

As Clint watched, the blank side of the screen turned into a grainy video taken from a surveillance camera. It showed a large white building with the letters _Sao Paolo Hospital _etched into the stone above the entrance.

Still puzzled, Clint furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what on _earth _Gehlhausen was trying to accomplish by this. Half involuntarily, he glanced over at the other section of the screen, the one that was showing Natasha. He froze in alarm at what he saw.

Natasha's eyes had opened wide, horror and panic and heart-breaking regret swimming in their green depths. Clint knew that look all too well. Whatever had happened at the Sao Paolo Hospital had been bad, and it had probably been her fault.

He tore his gaze away from Natasha's horror-stricken one and looked at the hospital again, only to find that the scene had changed drastically. Thick clouds of billowing black smoke were pouring out of the building, and people were pouring out of it, screaming.

Natasha was screaming along with them, tears pouring down her face. Clint was shocked and horrified – he had never seen her cry before, never even imagined it was possible. Whatever had happened at the hospital must have been even worse than it looked to him.

With a sinking heart, he looked back at the second screen. The whole left side of the hospital was ablaze, and he could see that the roof had collapsed. If anyone had been in there, there was no way they could have survived.

He looked back at Natasha's face, and he knew that there _had _been people inside. Lots of them, probably. And none of them had made it out.

The video ended with the CCTV camera splintering from a gunshot, but there had been a second where he could see her – clothes singed from the fire, her eyes wild and her face smudged with soot.

Then the screen flickered, and the scene changed.

Clint recognised the city as Moscow, and saw Natasha almost immediately. She was talking to a guard in front of a large manor house, smiling winningly up at him, but he was shaking his head.

Frustration crossed her face, and she pulled out a gun and shot him straight in the head. Before anyone else could react, she had vaulted over the gate and sprinted into the manor house.

On the left side of the screen, the real Natasha shook her head, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to block the memories.

The screen flickered again, skipping to a CCTV feed from a little girl's bedroom. The girl herself lay limply in the centre of the room, both her arms and one leg broken and splayed at unnatural angles. Her young face was frozen in a scream of horror and pain, tears staining her soft cheeks and pooling on her atrociously bruised collarbone.

Natasha was shaking uncontrollably now.

Unable to watch any longer, Clint tore his gaze from the screen and threw himself down on the cot, burying his face in his pillow.

The images had affected _him _this badly, and he didn't even know exactly what had happened.

He didn't want to imagine what it was doing to Natasha.

Gehlhausen's laughter echoed in his ears for hours to come, mingling with the sound of Natasha's screaming and sobbing.

* * *

Natasha herself stumbled into the cell seven hours later, glassy-eyed and wobbling on her feet. Clint rushed to her side at once, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

She didn't speak – he wasn't sure if she could. Not that he could blame her, after what she had gone through.

He didn't know what to say, so he just reached out and wrapped his arms around her in a comforting embrace.

She seemed content to just sit with him, wrapped up in his arms and shaking slightly despite his best efforts to soothe her.

Clint held her, vowing to do so for as long as she needed him to.

* * *

**A/N: Dear Readers, **

**I'm really sorry to say that this fanfic has been put temporarily on hiatus. See, I'm doing the Inktober Fanfiction Challenge 2019 for Harry Potter (here's the link if you're interested - ** topic/44309/178492581/1/2019-Inktober-Fanfiction-Challenge**) Basically, I get 31 prompts for the 31 days in October, and I have to post a fic for each one.**

**I can't see myself juggling that _and _this, not to mention my university work as well. So sorry again, but there won't be any more updates for the month of October.**

**However, I should be back as usual in November, because I'm _definitely _not abandoning this fic. If you're willing to wait a month for the next update, I'll see you then. **

**Don't let that stop you from reviewing, though – I _love _to hear from you guys. And who knows? If I get a particularly inspiring review, I might surprise everybody and post a chapter despite my ever-growing workload.**

**Thank you so much for understanding! I hope to see you guys in November.**

**~ Lynn**


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